


The Roommates AU

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Dad!Coulson Basically, F/M, The John Garrett We Deserved, The Roommates AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Putting all the chapters of the SkyeWard Roommates AU in one place.  Summaries at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> this is how it begins.

"This has to be a mistake," Ward says. For one, sophomores and upperclassmen at SHIELD academy are supposed to have single rooms. And, if he was to get a roommate, it would be another guy. Not a tiny girl with like, three computers and six cellphones already spread out on her desk.

"Not really," the girl says, "I was put into the system late. Didn’t you get an email about a roommate?" He crosses his arms. He might’ve gotten one. He’s shitty with emails.

"You’re a girl," he says. She shrugs, and pulls a fourth laptop out of her bag.

"A mistake in the system they just corrected. They had me down as Sky Coulson, without the "e" at the end. I’ve been on their files for like, three days."

"So this isn’t a single?" Ward asks, because this is his fate. "Wait, did you say Coulson?" Skye looks at him from her desk.

"No and yes," she says.

"I didn’t know he had a daughter," Ward says. Skye doesn’t looked phased.

"It’s complicated," she replies. "Like I said, I’m new to the system. What’s your name, btw?"

"Grant Ward," he replies. He’s rooming with a girl. He will have to spend the entire year changing in the bathroom. He will have to share a bathroom with a girl. What did he do to deserve this?

"Are you going to set your stuff down, Grant, or-"

"It’s Ward," he corrects. She rolls her eyes. He’s off to a great start with her.

"Okay, whatever. Come in. It’s your room too." She goes back to her computer. Ward stays in the doorway.


	2. Pertinent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ward knows nothing about his roommate. skye never answers his questions.

Ward has several pertinent questions for his roommate, and can ask her exactly zero of them.  He can’t just turn to her when she’s doing her homework and ask, “so are you Coulson’s illicit lovechild, or something?”  He doesn’t know Skye very well, but she seems like she’d punch him if he asked that sort of question.

  
  


Or worse, she’d tell Coulson himself.  That’s not a comment Ward needs on his record.

  
  


He’d like to ask why she insists on getting ready to Britney Spears in the morning.  There was a time when Grant Ward didn’t know all the words to “Toxic.”  He misses those days, before Skye came in and cluttered his bathroom and his room and his waking and non waking thoughts.

  
  


“Skye?” he says one night, as she puts lotion on her elbows, “are you cold?”  He likes to sleep with the window open, and Skye likes to sleep in a tank top and a pair of underwear, which he thinks is going to start being a problem when winter rolls around.  She puts her lotion back on her desk and stretches.  Her tank tops are thin enough as it is.  Ward doesn’t need this.

“I’ve got plenty of blankets,” Skye says.  “Why?  Are you cold?”  Ward turns over in bed and faces the wall, as he’s grown used to doing since his new roommate arrived.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Okay,” Skye says, almost amused.  “Whatever.  Night, weirdo.”

“Night,” he says, then chides himself for it.  He’s not supposed to be encouraging her.  And he really needs to stop responding to “weirdo,” and “robot,” and “G.I. douchebag.”

  
  


He should ask her to stop sexiling him, even if she’s gotten better about it.  The first time it happened, he’d just slept in the hallway.  He had no where else to go, and he needed his books in the morning.

“Seriously?” Skye had said, and her conquest was already long down the hallway.  “You could’ve told me you had no where to sleep.”  He’d stretched out the cricks in his neck.

“I didn’t want to ruin your night,” he’d said.  She’d scoffed at that, offering out her hand to him.  He’d thought that she should be more self conscious about sporting her pajamas (or lack thereof) in the hallway.

“I’ll kick them out when I’m done from now on,” Skye had said, like it was so easy to use people for sex.  He’d wanted to know how she did it.  He still does, actually.

  
  


He asks her, once, where she’s from.  It’s a balmy september night, and they’re finally getting used to each other.  She’s hand washing her bras in their bathroom sink, and for the first time Ward doesn’t actually mind.  She tenses when he asks.

“I moved a lot,” Skye says.  Ward stares at her back from his desk.  He’s never noticed how skinny she is, not until now, when he thinks he could count her vertebrae.

“Army brat?” he asks.  She goes back to scrubbing.

“Nope,” she says.

“How do you know Coulson?” he asks.

“How do you?” she replies.

  
  


Ward thinks it might be best to never ask.  She’s not going to tell him a thing, anyway.


	3. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ward gets hit with emotion.

The problem is not the feeling of love, per se, but the fact that it hits him all at once, like a truck or a brick or a fist clutching a roll of nickels.  He thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment, actually, since one moment he had been just fine, and the very next he’d felt sick in at least four different ways.

  
  


If Skye could hold pens like a normal person, this wouldn’t be happening.

If Skye wasn’t so absolutely stunning, especially now of all times, with her hair falling out of the braid she’d put it in this morning.

If Grant Ward wasn’t such an absolute sucker, maybe he wouldn’t be so far gone.  But he is on both counts.  One count of being an idiot, and one count of being absolutely, inarguably, disgustingly in love with his roommate.

  
  


And it’s only the second week.  Fuck.

  
  


He should stop staring at her hair.  It keeps falling into her eyes, and she’ll sigh and break from her reading, holding her pen between her teeth while she brushes back loose strands.  It looks soft.  Her hair.  Soft and dark and he would bet that it probably smells like dreams or spices or coconut.

Doesn’t he have his own work to be doing?  The sun is setting.  He’s barely even started.  He sat down and he’d planned to start, and he’d turned to Skye to ask if he could have one of his highlighters back, and it had just…happened.  He’d noticed the way the sun lit up the side of her face, her stray hairs, her eyelashes.  He could probably count all of her eyelashes right now, if he really tried.

He’s not even sure if he’s asked for that highlighter, yet.  He also has no idea what time it is, or if he’s opened his books, or if Skye is aware that he’s staring at her.  He hopes he’s been blinking, but even that’s not guaranteed.

  
  


“Skye?” he asks.  How had he not noticed the beauty of her name before?  Skye.  Light and carefree and holy fuck someone, anyone, please make it stop.  Turn it off.  This is torture.  This is the worst kind of torture he could ever imagine, to feel like this when he knows with absolute certainty that she will never feel the same way.

Skye pulls the pen out of her mouth.  He watches with rapt fascination.  Her lips look just as soft as her hair.  Softer, even.

“What’s up?” she asks.

  
  


_You’re pretty,_  he thinks.   _You’re really, really pretty and I’m sorry I’ve been a dick to you since we’ve met.  Not just because you’re pretty, though.  That would make me even more of a dick._

He wets his lips with his tongue.  “Can I, um, have one of my highlighters back?”

She nods.  “Sure thing,” she tells him.  She reaches into her desk drawer and hands him one, electric blue, with teeth marks in it.  He would complain but he finds the little dents so fascinating, the curves of her molars left in a plastic mold.

  
  


He’s doomed.  He’s ruined.  There is no turning back.

  
  


“Hey, Ward,” Skye asks.  “Are you feeling okay?”

He looks up from the highlighter, though his thumb still brushes over the indents.  “Fine,” he says.  “Do I not seem fine?”  Am I crazy?  Am I going crazy, Skye?  You can tell me.

“You just seem a little spaced,” she says.  She looks down at her notebook and decides she’s done enough work.  She puts her pen between the pages to mark her place.  “Want to go get dinner?” she asks.  “I’m hungry.”

“You’ve never asked me to get dinner before,” he says.  Wrong answer.  Wrong, stupid, stupid wrong answer, stupid!  Was it really so hard to say yes?

“You didn’t seem like you’d say yes until now,” she says.  “You seem nicer today.”

“I can be nice!” he says.  “I-I’m sorry if I haven’t been.”  He is.  He really is.

“You’re nice,” she says.  “You’re just nicer, right now.”  She smiles, and that steals  it, the last bit of dirt over his grave.  “It’s because I’m ovulating, isn’t it?”

He chokes on the air in his lungs and the spit in his mouth and even that joke is not enough to steer him away from her.  Because he honestly thinks she could have a point.

“Wow!” she says.  “A real-life laugh from Grant Ward.”

Had he been laughing?  It hadn’t felt like laughing.  “Well,” he says.  Don’t fuck up.  Don’t fuck up.  “Food?” Good enough.

  
  


She decides to pull her hair out of her braid, then, rustle it and run her fingers through its waves.  He wants to touch her so badly it aches, and he cannot remember for the life of him having ever craved physical contact.  From anyone.  This is a first.  An all-consuming, painful first.

“Come on,” she says.  “I think it’s pizza night.”

She touches his shoulder when she gets up, and he feels it vibrate through him for the rest of the night.


	4. Obstacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ward kicks one of skye’s conquests in the face. mostly by accident.

Ward recognizes the broad shouldered boy with sandy blond hair, standing at the mouth of the obstacle course.  Ward got a pretty good look at him around two am, actually, when Skye had kicked him out of their bedroom.  Ward had been waiting in the hallway, like he usually did.  He doesn’t have anywhere else to stay, and Skye promises that she’ll always have the room cleared out by 2.  She’d offered midnight, but Ward hadn’t wanted her to think that he’s uncool or a wet blanket or anything, so he’d told her 2 was fine.  Besides, he only needs five hours of sleep, max.  And it only happens two times a week.  So it’s not like she’s ruining his life, or anything.

  
  


Except that she is.

  
  


 Blond haired boy is just standing out in the field.  He looks smug.  He’s probably bragging about Skye.  He looks like that type.  Who does he think he is, anyway?  Skye booty-called him.  Not the other way around.  Ward should go set the record straight.  He jogs over to blond boy and his little group of cadets.

“Hey, you’re Skye’s roommate, right?” blond boy asks, offering his hand.  “It’s Ward, right?”

“Yeah,” Ward says, taking blond boy’s hand and giving it a crushing squeeze.  Blond boy winces for just a tick, then pulls his hand away.  “I didn’t catch your name, though.”

“Alex,” he says.  Alex is a douchebag’s name, really.

“You room with a girl?” one of the other cadets asks.

“It’s a long story,” Ward says.

“Skye’s pretty cool,” Alex says.  “I think she’d be an awesome roommate.”  Ward scoffs.  Like Alex would know.  Alex has no idea that Skye sings in the shower at the top of her lungs, or that she often takes Ward’s notebooks to class because their notebooks are all black and she can’t tell them apart, or that Skye eats late at night even though it’s bad for her in the long run and- hey, are people starting the obstacle course?

  
  


Here’s what happens: Ward kicks Alex in the face.  The longer version: Ward reaches his usual lead with little struggle, despite the fact that someone decided to start the obstacle course without him.  It’s probably Alex’s fault, though Ward’s not sure how.  And when they get to the rope ladders, Alex is pretty much up Ward’s ass, and so it’s only fair for Ward to give him a tiny nudge to back off.  Like when you flicker your brake lights to let the car behind you know they’re tailgating.

  
  


Except that it wasn’t a nudge.  It was a full fledged face kick.  That’s the accidental part.

Alex yells, “what the hell?!” from the dirt.

Ward half heartedly mumbles a “sorry!” and scrambles over the ladder.  His instructor is waiting for him at the other side of the course, naturally, because they’re being trained to kill but apparently kicking Alex in his stupid face is off limits.  So he trudges to the deans’s office with a scowl on, and when he opens the door Skye is sitting in one of the chairs, texting away.

  
  


“Hey roomie,” Skye says, without looking up, “what’re you in for?” 


	5. Mathematics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> skye needs homework help. ward is not great at math. or people.

Skye curses at her desk.  This is nothing new.  Skye has a filthy mouth, and Ward hears approximately thirty ‘fucks’ a day.  He’s actually started cursing more, and it’s entirely Skye’s fault.  But he’s gotten to the point where he can recognize general curses and more agonized ones.  These are the latter.

“You good?” he asks her.  He used to try and ignore her, keep his nose buried in his book and his body firmly on his bed.  That’s the thing about Skye, though.  She refuses to let him ignore her.

  
  


“How are your math skills?” Skye asks.  Ward gets up without thinking about it.  He places a hand on Skye’s desk.  Two weeks ago, the room was pretty much divided in half.  That doesn’t happen anymore.  He’s leaning right over her shoulder and she doesn’t even mind. 

  
  


She’s got terrible handwriting but Ward can make out the equations on the page.

“This isn’t very complicated mathematics,” Ward says.  Skye protectively snatches her notebook from of the desk.

“Thanks for that, Ward,” Skye says, “that solves everything.”  She tries to get up from her desk, but Ward holds the chair in place.

“Hey,” he says, “that’s not what I meant.  Let me see the problem again.”  Skye gives him a look, which makes him realize how close he’s brought himself to her shoulder.  With a huff, Skye lays her notebook out on the desk.  Ward taps the paper with his pen.

“This is pre-calc,” Ward says, “that’s why I’m confused.  You should’ve learned this in high school.”

“Oh,” Skye says.  “Well, I didn’t.”  He notes the way she’s staring holes into her notebook, the anxious tapping of her pen.

“How old are you?” Ward asks.  He’s never really put an age to Skye.  She seems to be sixteen and twenty six at the same time.  To him, at least.

“Eighteen,” Skye says, quietly, “and I don’t know how that helps.”  Ward puts his hand over hers, to stop the incessant tapping.  It’s distracting.  It also means that his mouth is now mere inches from her neck.  But this is about math.

“I was just wondering if you’d graduated high school,” Ward says.  Skye shakes his hand off hers.

“I did,” she says.  Her voice wavers.

“Skye-” he whispers.

“Fuck,” she says, wiggling out of his embrace, the one he didn’t even notice he’d been holding her in.  She stands from the chair, and she looks more scared and sad than he’s even seen her.

“What?” he asks.  “What did I do?”  Skye runs her hands through her hair, before angrily tossing her arms to her sides.

“I didn’t graduate high school, okay?” Skye says, and she’s starting to cry, “I’m a fucking dropout.”

  
  


Ward freezes for the following reasons: one, there is a girl crying.  Two, Skye never finished high school.  Three, the girl crying is Skye.

“Don’t cry,” he says.  His voice is higher than it should be.  “Skye,” he says, “please don’t cry.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” she says.  She wipes her nose on the back of her hand.

“Of course you should be here,” Ward says, still in that high pitch, “Coulson put you in here.” 

“Because he doesn’t know what else to do with me,” Skye says.  “He should’ve just handed me over to the cops.”  She sits down on her bed, and slumps forward onto her knees.  Ward still has no idea what to do.  Maybe he should sit next to her.  He’s going to try that.  Good plan.  He sits next to her.  Should he rub her back?  He reaches one hand out and runs it over her shoulder.  She doesn’t protest, so he keeps going.

“I would be miserable if you weren’t here,” Ward says.  That’s not what he was planning to say.  It slipped out, really.  Skye looks up from her hands.  She’s got raccoon eyes.

“I’m so bad at school, Ward,” Skye says.  “I’m never going to make it out of this place.”

  
  


Ward takes the biggest risk of his nineteen years.  He wraps his arm around Skye’s shoulders, and he pulls her into a hug.  Well, maybe not the biggest risk.  It feels like it, though.  Especially when Skye throws her arms around his neck and nestles her head into his shoulder.

“I’ll help you,” Ward says.  “I’m great at math.”  He isn’t.  He’s never hugged anyone for this long.  He’s not really sure where to go from here.  He twists his fingers into Skye’s hair.

“I can’t fail,” she mumbles.  “I have no where else to go.”

“You’re not going to fail,” Ward says.  “And you’ll always have a place with me.” 

“Aw, roomie,” she says, “I thought you were made of ice.”  Ward says nothing, but he thinks  _so did I._


	6. Schmear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this au. coulson brings his kind of daughter bagels on a saturday morning. ward answers the door.

There’s a rapping on the door at ten am on a Saturday morning.  Skye’s tucked deep into her 30 or so blankets, her tiny head barely visible on her pillow.  Ward’s been up since seven, though.  He marks the page of his book and sets it down on his bed.  The knocking gets faster, and Ward wonders if the hall is on fire, or something.  That’s probably it.  Why they don’t put the Sci-Ops kids in a different, flame-proof building is one of SHIELD Academy’s many mysteries.

  
  


It’s Phil Coulson.  Agent Phil Coulson, personal friend of Director Fury’s, assistant to the Avengers Initiative, is standing in the doorway with a brown paper bag and a tray of two coffees.

“Who the hell are you?” Agent Coulson says.  Ward faintly realizes that he’s in a tee shirt and a pair of boxer briefs.

“I’m-” Ward chokes out, voice cracking, “I’m Skye’s roommate.”  Agent Coulson frowns.

“They put her in with a boy?” he asks.  Ward nods so fast his head might come off.

“It was a system error.  They had her in as Sky, with no e at the end.”  Coulson sighs, coming into the room before Ward can offer.

“There’s an error alright,” Agent Coulson says, “but I’ll take it up with Director Hand.”

“Sir?” Ward squeaks.  Agent Coulson sets the bag and the coffees down on Skye’s desk.

“What time did she get to bed last night?” he asks.

“Um,” Ward says, “well-” the correct answer is four am, he knows because she’d crawled into his bed by accident and he’d heard a british voice faintly saying “no, love, that’s not your bed.”

  
  


Agent Coulson is still giving Ward a rather expectant look, so Ward says, “Around 2 am, I think.  Sir.”  Agent Coulson shrugs.

“You think she’ll get mad if I wake her up?” he asks.  He’s got something friendly in his voice.  Ward is taken off guard by it.  Agents aren’t people.  They’re, they’re…agents!  What is Ward supposed to aspire to be if agents can have feelings?

“I’ve never tried to wake her,” Ward says.  He leaves the ‘sir,’ off this time, to test the waters.  Coulson actually smiles at him.

“You’re smarter than I am, then,” Coulson says.  Ward balks at that, at how casual Coulson seems to be about, well, everything.

“Skye,” Coulson says, leaning forward, “Skye, wake up.”  She lifts an arm out from under her blankets and tries to bat Coulson’s head.  Ward would be scandalized if it wasn’t the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“Sleeping,” Skye mutters, “shh.”

“SHIELD Academy waits for no one,” Coulson tells her, and pulls her blankets back.  A disgruntled Skye actually hisses and hides her head under her pillow.

“SLEEPING,” she insists.

“I brought bagels,” Coulson tells her.  She peeks up from under her pillow.

“Real ones?” she asks.  Coulson nods.  Ward has no idea what’s going on, or if he should even be here, but standing in the corner by his bed seems to be working great for him.

  
  


Skye groans, pushes the pillow off her head and rolls over to her side.

“Ward,” she says, bits of sleep still traced in her voice, “throw me my pants.”  Coulson shoots Ward a look that instantly undoes any camaraderie the two of them had moments prior.  Ward holds up his hands.

“I know where she keeps her sweatpants,” Ward says, “that’s all.”  Coulson’s look softens from ‘i’ll eat your still beating heart’ to ‘yeah that better be all,’ and Ward almost feels relieved.

  
  


Ward makes his way to Skye’s drawers as quickly as he can, and of course the drawer sticks as he tries to open it.

“Ugh, don’t make me get out of bed yet,” Skye says.  Ward can feel Coulson’s eyes on his back.

“Hold on,” Ward says, “the drawer sticks.”

“Is this something you do for her often?” Coulson asks.  Ward hears Skye snicker.

“Oh my god,” Skye says, “relax.  He’s my roommate.  He’s pretty much like a lamp that can talk and reach high shelves.”  Ward swallows, hard.  At least he’s facing the drawers and not Skye, so she can’t see the look that crosses his face.

“Is black okay?” Ward asks.  He’s finally gotten the drawer mostly open.  Skye has sweatpants in way too many colors, which is ridiculous since she only ever wears them around the room or for mandatory Academy fitness training.  He’s almost positive no one else at SHIELD Academy has hot pink yoga pants.

“Black’s fine,” Skye says, so he pulls out a neatly folded black pair (he does all the folding.  And the non-undergarments related laundry.  She makes him.)  He tosses them to her, and Coulson catches them.  Ward tries to smile.

“Did I buy these for you?” Coulson asks, surveying the black pants at an arm’s distance, “they seem like they’d be too tight.”

“That’s the style,” Skye says, grabbing them from Coulson’s hands.  She wiggles into her sweats and Ward makes sure his eyes are firmly on the carpet.

  
  


“I wish I’d known you have a roommate,” Coulson says, as Skye swings her legs over the bed, “I’d have brought more bagels and coffee.”

“That’s fine,” Ward says, “I don’t eat carbs.  Or drink coffee.  Caffeine is-”

“A drug, bad for your heart, bad for your sleep cycle, yada yada,” Coulson says, handing Skye her cup of coffee.  She takes it and gives Ward a smug smile.  “I went to Academy too, you know.  Those health tips they give you are more like guidelines than gospel.”

“Don’t bother with him,” Skye says, “he eats like, three things.  Spinach, eggs, and protein shakes.”  Something changes in Coulson’s expression.  Ward isn’t entirely familiar with what concern looks like from a father figure, but he thinks that might be it.  Ward doesn’t like it.  Not one bit.

“I eat plenty of things,” Ward says, “you just steal all my food before I get a chance to eat it.”

“Have my bagel,” Coulson says.  “It’s everything.  You like everything bagels, don’t you?”

“It’s fine,” Ward says.  “I couldn’t take your breakfast.”   Coulson digs out his bagel, wrapped in tin foil.

“It’s got a schmear on it,” Coulson says, “just plain cream cheese.  Have it.”

  
  


Ward stares at the bagel.  He stares at Skye, who’s oh-so-innocently sipping her coffee and staring right back at him.  This could be a test.  If he takes the bagel, he might earn Coulson’s favor.  Or it’s a trap, and Coulson is trying to see if he’s greedy.

“Jesus Christ,” Coulson says, pulling Ward’s arm out and slapping the bagel into Ward’s outstretched hand, “it’s just a bagel, kid.  Relax.”  Ward lets out a nervous laugh.  It sounds kind of like a cat being tossed in a tub.  Coulson has the decency not to look horrified, though Skye is not as kind.

“Weirdo,” Skye says.  Ward doesn’t dispute it.

  
  


“So, now that breakfast is all sorted out,” Coulson says, pulling Skye’s chair out from her desk, “what’s going on around campus?  What’s the gossip?”

“Oh my god,” Skye says, “there is no gossip.  No one says that.”

“Sure they do,” Coulson says, “and there’s always plenty of gossip.  Isn’t there, Ward?”  Ward freezes.

“Last week Agent Sitwell taught me how to tie knots,” Ward blurts out.  He doesn’t know if that counts as gossip.

“Wow, slow down with the exciting stories,” Skye says.  “Next you’re going to tell us about how you washed your socks last week.”  Coulson chuckles at that.

  
  


The thing is: Ward doesn’t remember washing his socks, but he does remember Skye hand washing a purple bra in the sink and then leaving it to dry on the towel rack.  And Ward had been so good this entire time, but it was there and- he peeked at the tag.  He knows her cup size, now.  He’s going to roommate hell.  He says none of this, and instead unwraps his bagel and takes a large bite to keep himself from talking. 


	7. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ward needs to figure out why skye is mad at him. it’s easier said than done.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ward blurts it out without meaning to.  Skye’s just doing her homework.  Keeping to herself.

Skye doesn’t look up.  “Why would you think that?”

“Well, um,” Ward starts, unsure of where to go from here.  He could point out that she’s acting strange right now.  She never just sits and quietly does her homework.  She’s always blurting out answers or curses or questions, and she’s usually listening to music and checking the computer and talking to Ward about thirty things at once.  He could point out that she’s sexiled him two nights in a row, after previously not sexiling him for a cumulative twelve days.  There’s also the fact that she’s stopped listening to Britney Spears when she gets ready in the morning.  She’s switched to something that he can only describe as “angry girl rock.”  Sometimes she sings along, and Ward can’t help but think she’s singing about him.  She’s stopped saying “goodnight,” when she goes to bed.

 

He notices the little things.  It’s what they’re training him to do, right?

 

Skye hasn’t moved from her desk, and that’s another sign; Skye is never quiet or contained.  He keeps his eyes trained on her profile, on the way the light casts itself around her head and brings out the gold in her hair.  He misses her, which is an odd thing to say when she’s sitting right there.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Ward says.  Her jaw twitches.

“Maybe I’m just a weird person,” she says.  Not to him.  To the pages of her book. 

“I mean, yeah, you are,” Ward says.  She tosses her pen down.  Fuck.  That’s not what he meant.  “I mean, you’re not-you’re acting like, really quiet and withdrawn and I’m just wondering if I did something because we’re living together and communication is-”

Skye whips her head towards him.  “You’ve been perfect,” Skye says, “the perfect SHIELD Academy student.  A real role model.”  The burning coals in her voice make Ward uneasy.  

 

“Can you just tell me what I did wrong?” Ward says. “Please?”  He’s wracking his brain for answers.  They were fine on Monday.  They went to the dining hall together.  She’d stolen his pudding cup.  Then they’d come back to their room and they were doing homework and she’d asked him something?  What had she asked him about?

“You’re just not the person I thought you were,” Skye says.  “That’s all.”  There are knots tying in his chest.

“What did you think I was?” Ward asks.

“Kind.  Compassionate.  Understanding,” Skye lists.  Ward is in the dark, here.  He said something, did something, and now Skye is convinced he’s a monster.  He thought she’d known him better.  She did.  He just-he had to fix this, is all.

 

What did he say to her, on Monday night?  They had been doing their homework, she’d been reading a textbook, something about SHIELD and the modern world.  She was making fun of it.  Laughing at their tips on carrying out non-suspicious conversation, and Ward had mentioned he’d poured over those tips as a freshman.  Skye had laughed, and said “of course you did.”  She’d offered to teach him how to talk to girls, after she did her homework.  Ward wanted to point out that he was talking to her, and that she was the only girl he’d ever wanted to talk to.  But he didn’t.  Her laughter had tapered off suddenly, over something in her book.

 

“Come on, Skye,” Ward says, “Just tell me how to make you happy.”  Her happiness, he realizes, is worth more than his.  His happiness seems to be dependent on hers, actually.  Ward remembers wishing, the first two days of their living arrangement, that she would just stop talking, and being so peppy, and calling him names and taking up space in every inch of his life.  But now he felt weirdly sick without it.  Empty.  He’d been lacking, and now Skye is just going to take that away from him?  Did she have any idea what kind of power she held over him?

“Did you mean it?” Skye demands.

“Mean what?” Ward asks.  He sounds eager.  He is eager.  Anything to repent and make Skye like him again.

“What you said on Monday,” Skye says.  Ward sucks in a breath.  What had he said on Monday?

 

“Ward?” She’d asked, “What’s a gifted?”  He remembers shrugging his shoulders.

“You know, people with ‘talents.’  The dangerous kind.  It’s SHIELD’s job to contain them.”  Skye was frowning.  She’d offered him a pleading look, and he’d ignored it.

“Why do they need to be contained?” she’d asked.

“Because they’re not normal.  They pose a clear threat to society and to, you know,”

“Normal people?” Skye had spat the word normal like it disgusted her.  He hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah.  People like us.  That’s why it’s our job to keep them from hurting anyone.  By any means necessary.” 

Skye had slammed her book shut.  “I need a shower,” she’d said.

 

“I said something about gifteds?” Ward asks, “that’s what you’re mad about?”  Skye finally turns to look at him, whipping her braid over her shoulder.  Her frown pulls at every inch of his subconscious.  It sends him into high alert.  It says ‘you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up.’

“You said something about people,” Skye says, “and yeah, I’m pretty fucking pissed about it.”  Hearing her say it hurts.  More than he’d thought it would.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t in the textbook,” Ward offers.

Skye’s frown turns into a scowl.  “And that makes it better?  People are people, Ward.  I get that SHIELD has a hard-on for oppression, but doesn’t their whole gifted policy seem a little extreme?”

“Don’t say that,” Ward tells her.  SHIELD’s given him a home.  It gave her a home.  He can’t just disregard the rulebook for Skye’s dark eyes.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” Skye says, “unless you’re planning to report me.”

Ward feels the accusation spread across his chest like a physical pain.  “I would never-”

“Why not?” Skye says, “I’m weird.  I’m not SHIELD material.  I’m different.  And you said that ‘gifteds’ are freaks, and that freaks are dangerous, so-”  Ward stands up from his bed.  Maybe it’s the rambling.  Maybe it’s the accusations.  He feels to small.  He needs to remind himself of his own size.

“I never said anything like that,” Ward demands.  “You’re putting words in my mouth.”  Skye stands, pushing her desk chair into her dresser.  The photos on the dresser wobble at the impact, but don’t fall off.  She’s enraged, in an all enveloping sort of way that sparks through her gnashed teeth and furious eyes.  He’d take a step back, if his bed wasn’t right behind him.

 

“Everything has to be normal to you, doesn’t it?” Skye snarls.  She breaches his personal space.  She jabs a finger into her chest.  “Everything has to be protocol.  You’re just like them! You’ll always follow orders even if they fly in the face of basic human compassion!”  Ward catches her wrist.

“Skye,” he says softly, if only to offer some kind of peace, “I promise you, I am not like that.  It was a one time comment.”

“That’s all it takes, isn’t it?” she asks, “It’s how you feel.”  He shakes his head.

“I wasn’t thinking.  Just reciting what I was told.”  Skye is still glaring at him.  It’s not the best thing to say, but it’s the truth.  And he hopes, more than anything, that she can appreciate him being honest.

“Have you ever even met a gifted?” Skye asks.

“I haven’t,” Ward says.

“So how do you know, then?  That they’re all dangerous?” she’s not yelling anymore.  That’s a good sign.  He couldn’t handle her yelling at him.  He couldn’t.

“I don’t,” he admits, “and I was stupid to act like I did.”

“So you’d give a gifted a chance, then?” Skye asks.

“I’d give anyone a chance,” Ward says.  He’s still holding her wrist.  He thinks she’s moved closer to him, because her free hand is splayed out on his chest.

 

He wonders if she can feel his heart pounding.  She casts her eyes down.

 

The silence that follows is softer than it had been before, yet somehow heavier.  Her shallow breathing hits him like the tide.  And he should take his eyes off her face, but he’s drawn to every part of her so throughly that he can’t bring himself to look away.  She moves her hand out of his wrist, but instead of pulling back, she laces her fingers through his and squeezes.  Like she’s afraid.

 

“What if I was a gifted?” she asks. “Would you still be my friend?”  She sniffles.  “Would you hand me over to SHIELD?”

 Ward can’t think.  He can’t breathe.  She’s too close to him.  “Are you a gifted?” he asks.  Skye doesn’t look offended.  Just sad.  Deflated.  “Skye?”

“I’m something,” she says.  It’s less than a whisper.  It’s a breath.  He hears her.  He hears her and he hates himself all at once.  He’d never hand her over to SHIELD.  He’d never do that to her.  He’s not capable of it.  Of picking SHIELD over Skye.  And he never thought he’d say that about his roommate, yet here he is.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I’m an idiot.  I’m so stupid.  I should’ve-”

“It’s not you,” Skye says.  “It’s SHIELD.  You know how they feel about these things and-”  She looks at him and her eyes are wet.  He cups her cheeks in his hands.  Her face is so small.  She’s small.  Fragile.  Gifted.

“I’ll protect you,” he says, an oath or a vow, “I swear to God, Skye, I will always protect you.”

 

She smiles.  It reaches her eyes.  Ward thinks he sees something being buried under the light of her eyes, something that had been dark and terrible.  He won’t bring it up.  Skye grabs his wrists.

“Slow down there, roomie,” she teases, “I’m a proper southern girl.  You’ll make me untidy!”  He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she’s hiding behind her jokes, that she’s always hiding, but he’s just so ecstatic that she’s not mad at him anymore that he lets it go.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  She wraps her arms around him.

“You said that already,” she says.  He pats the back of her head.

“It couldn’t hurt to say it a few more times,” Ward says.  “I just want to make it clear.  That I’m sorry.  I fucked up.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Skye mutters into his chest, “you’ve probably used your emotional quota up for the day.” 

“I’m fine,” Ward tells her.  His fingers have gotten tangled in her hair.  “How are you?”  She pulls back.

“Never better,” she says.  He wants to believe her.  On a whim, he rustles her hair.

“Ugh!” she complains, “what are you, my big brother?  Don’t mess up my hair.”  She pauses, then holds out her pinky.

“Still best friends?” she asks.  He hooks his pinky around hers without hesitation.

“You’re my only friend,” he says.  There it is.  Another dark flash behind her eyes, but she hides it with a sharp laugh.

“We’ve got to work on that,” she says.  “I’m not reliable enough to be your only friend.”  

 

He’d say that he doesn’t want any other friends, he just wants her.  Just Skye, where he can see her.  Where he can protect her.  Do her other friends know?  Does anyone else know?  She’s searching his face.  He has to think of something to say.

 

“You look pretty,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else.  He has a strong urge to melt into the floor.

“Okay, then,” Skye says, tossing her hands up, “I think you just had a factory restart.  Good talk, roomie.”  For a moment, her face softens.  “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“Never,” he says.  “I promise.”  She nods.

“Just checking,” she says.  “I do trust you.  I shouldn’t have-”

“You’re perfect,” Ward says.

“I’m in need of a shower,” Skye says.  “But thanks?”

“Don’t drown?” he offers.  She laughs.  Harder than she should.

“A real joke,” she says, “I’m honored.”  It feels so much more normal, now, but he can’t fight the feeling that something has changed, that something is wrong, here.  He doesn’t want to think too hard about it, but it’s pulling on the edge of his thoughts.  Something is wrong.  Something is wrong.  Something is-

 

Skye starts singing in the shower, for the first time in three days.  Ward shuts his eyes and smiles.  


	8. Nicely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for skye week: a flashback episode, set between something and wraps. skye and ward celebrate halloween.

“So wait,” Ward starts, in the doorway of the bathroom where he has only just started to belong.  “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Mimi,” she says, over her shoulder.  “From RENT.”

“I don’t know what RENT is,” he says. 

“Of course you don’t,” Skye says.  She finds a black tube in her makeup pouch.  “It’s a musical.  And a movie, that is also a musical.”  She bends at the waist to get closer to the mirror, and Ward really isn’t supposed to stare at her ass.  He really isn’t.  Her underwear has lace trim on it.  She really has such a perfect butt, and it’s just right there, and he’d never touch it, but wow, she has a really nice butt.

“They say that I have the best ass below fourteenth street,” Skye says, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s talking to him.

“Below-” he says.  “What?”

She sighs.  “It’s from a song.  From the musical.”

“Maybe I’ll check it out online tonight,” he says.

She pulls back.  She stares at his reflection, lingering over her shoulder.  “You don’t have plans?” she asks.

“Do I ever have plans?” Ward says.  He tries to smile.  “Seriously.  It’s not a big deal.”

“But it’s Halloween,” she says.  “You’re supposed to take your shirt off and pretend to be a sexy werewolf and go out!”

“First,” Ward says.  “That’s very specific.”

“I binge watched all of Teen Wolf two nights ago,” Skye says.  “Did you know Derek Hale is your soulmate?”

“I don’t know what that means,” he replies.  “And second, where would I go out?  I don’t have a fake ID.”

“If you took your shirt off it wouldn’t matter,” Skye says. 

“I also hate nightclubs,” he points out.

“Of course you do,” she says.  “Why don’t you go trick or treating?”

“I don’t trick or treat,” he says.

She rolls her eyes.  “If you could not be a grump for like, twenty seconds, thanks,” she says.  

She’s not trying to be mean.  It still makes him dart his eyes to his feet and mumble an apology, but he doesn’t think she’s really paying attention.

“When’s the last time you went trick or treating?” she says.

He stares at his socks.  They’re getting worn down.  He should go buy more socks.  “Never,” he says.

“What?” she asks.  “You’ve never been trick or treating?”

“No,” he says.

  
  


Silence.  Then.  A clack on the counter, as Skye sets down whatever it is she’s holding.  “Well,” she says.  “Neither have I.” 

He looks up.  He catches her face in the mirror, made up and frowning.

“You haven’t?” he asks.

“Orphan,” she reminds him.  “What’s your excuse?”

“My um,” he starts.  Think of something.  Think!  “My family didn’t like it.”

Something flickers in her eyes, and he wonders if she’s going to push it.  He’s never been very good at lying.

“Well that sucks,” she says.  She turns on her heel.  Her hair, all curled and teased, whirls around her and lands in ringlets over her bra.  The front of her is so attractive.  As attractive as the back, really.  The front is where her boobs are.  And her face.  She has such a pretty face.  Were they talking about something?

“Yes,” he replies.  “Yes it is that.”

She smirks. “We’re going trick or treating.”

He looks up from her cleavage.  He got distracted.  He really didn’t mean to.  “What?”

“We are going trick or treating,” she says.  “It’ll be fun.”  If she notices the way he’s staring at her costume, has been staring, she’s nice enough not to say anything.  Which means she must be a little fond of him, at least.

“Don’t you have a party?” he asks.

“Fuck ‘em,” she declares.

“Aren’t we a little too old?” he says.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies.  “We never got to trick or treat as children so we’re making up for lost time.  Besides.  How can you ever be too old for free candy?”

She’s got that face on.  He’d call it a ‘game face,’ but he’s not really sure what she’s playing.  Maybe everyone.  That could make sense.  But.  It speaks volumes.  She’s determined.  So bright she’s sparking.  And how could he tell her no?

“I don’t have a costume,” he says.

“We can figure something out,” Skye says.  “Why don’t you go as a mummy?  We’ll wrap you in toilet paper.”

“We’re running low on toilet paper,” he says.

“Okay,” she says.  “You could be a ghost!”

“Neither of us have white sheets,” he says.  “And if we did, I wouldn’t want to cut holes in them.”

She bows her head.

“Skye?” he asks.  He’s done something wrong.  He must have.

“Shush,” she replies.  “I’m thinking.”  Oh.  Okay.  He can deal with that.  

  
  


She claps her hands and it startles him, and she laughs and she’s touching his arm, now.  To calm him, he thinks, but she’s in her underwear (costume! costume) and she is touching him.  With her hands.

“Sorry,” she says.  He tries to play it off with the shake of his head.  No, he’s not jumpy.  Not him.  No, he’s not staring at her boobs again.  Maybe a little.  “But I’ve got an idea.  You have a suit, right?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“And can I take one of your white tee shirts?” she asks.

Don’t think about Skye in one of your tee shirts, with nothing else underneath.  Don’t imagine it don’t don’t oh you’re doing it right now, aren’t you?

“Hm?” he says.

“Can I have one of your tee shirts?” she asks.

“Sure,” he says.  “Totally.  As many as you want.”

She grins.  “I just need one,” she says.

“Don’t you already,” he gestures to her costume and his hand accidentally brushes her side and he might have just had a small, small heart attack.  “Have a costume?”  He doesn’t remember his voice being quite that high.

“We’re gonna do a couples costume,” she tells him.  “You’ll be the secret agent from Area 51 and I’ll be an escaped alien prisoner.”

He blinks at her.  “Isn’t that a little on-the-nose?”

She playfully shoves his chest.  He lets out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but kind of sounds like a honk and a whimper.  “That’s why it’s funny,” she says.

“Oh,” he replies.  “Right.  Of course.”

  
  


He gets into his suit while she fixes her makeup.  He doesn’t mind her taking the extra time.  He’s content to watch her swipe colors over her face.  She puts powder over her eyebrows and lips until they disappear, and even then he finds her reflection discomfortingly beautiful.  She draws on three black dots on both sides where her eyebrows are supposed to be, then fills her lips in.

She turns to him.  “Alien enough?” she asks.  He studies her face.  Her eyes look enormous.  Big and brown and deep and- “Ward.”

“You look pretty,” he says.  This is his go-to.  It makes her happy.

She gives a cheeky grin.  “You fill out a suit very nicely,” she says.  “Do you remember where I put my leotard?”

He freezes.  “You have a leotard?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says.  “A silver one.  For raves.”

Well, that would explain why he’s never seen it.

“Can you get out a tee shirt for me while I look for it?” she asks. “Oh, and I should get tights, too.  With holes in them!  To go with my boots.”

He didn’t know there were boots.  She digs through her drawers, swearing, while he gets her a tee shirt.  He has a brand new pack.  She’ll like that.  He turns around, one to see that she’s bent at the waist again.  So he looks at her lamp instead.  It’s a nice lamp.  It’s always been there for him.

“Got it!” she declares, holding what must be an article of clothing over her head.  It looks like plastic and tin foil had a baby and she’s going to put that on her body?  “Give me a second while I go get changed.”

He does.

And.

She does put it on her body.  It is worse than the underwear costume, he decides.  It is shinier, so he couldn’t look away if he tried.  And it’s tight.  So tight.  She’s got ripped up tights on, too, with bits of her skin peeking out through the holes. 

“Okay,” she says.  “Tee shirt.”  She holds out her hand expectantly, and it takes him a beat to pass her the shirt.  He had been…otherwise occupied.  She’s so shiny.  She takes it and frowns.

“This is new,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“I wanted one that was more worn,” she says.  “And one that smelled like you.”

He thinks he might’ve just choked on his own spit, a little.  “What?”

She looks up at him.  “I like how you smell,” she says.  “Is that a problem?”

“No!” he says.  “You also smell, um, really nice.  Like shampoo.”

“So can I have an older tee shirt?” she asks.  

He nods.  He takes the one he wore last night and hands it to her.  “It’s not clean but it’s not-”

“It’s perfect,” she says.  “Can I cut in half?” she asks.  He dumbly nods.  She likes how he smells.  She can do whatever she wants, really.

  
  


The tee shirt is sheared in half.  Skye lets the bottom part fall to the floor.

“Marker me,” she says.

“What?” Ward asks.

“Give me a sharpie, please,” she says.  “I know you have like, six.”

“I had six,” he says.  “You borrowed one and now I have five.”

“Oh that was yours?” she says.  “I actually totally forgot where I got that.  I think I lent it to someone in my Comms class.”

He’s not upset about that, though he would be if it were anyone else.  But Skye makes everything so easy and effortless and perfect, why would he ever be mad at her?  It’s just a stupid marker.  And she’s Skye.

He digs in his drawer until he finds one, and with his sharpie she outlines big block letters, then fills them in.  “INMATE: AREA 51.”  And then, under, she draws a little box, and five fake ID numbers.  0-0-0-8-4.

“Get it?” she says, holding the tee shirt against her chest.  “An 0-8-4 is-”

“An object of unknown origin,” he says.

“Yep,” she says, and slips the tee shirt over her head.  It falls a few inches under her bust.  “How do I look?”

“Like you stepped out of the 80s,” he says.  And yes, even he knows what the 80s looked like.

“Awesome,” she says.  “There were tons of aliens in the 80s.”

He’s not sure if that’s actually true, but she’s already gone into the bathroom to inspect her appearance.  

“I need antennae,” she says.  “You don’t have pipe cleaners, do you?”

“I don’t know what those are,” he says.

She frowns for just an instant.  “Can I borrow your hair gel?” she asks.

He’s running low, actually.  But he doesn’t question her.  “Of course,” he says.  He keeps in in the cabinet behind the mirror, and she’s squirting it into her hand.  Bright blue and sticky.  She takes a chuck of her hair and slicks it up with the gel, over and over, until it almost stands up.  She repeats with the other side.  And smiles.

“What if I looked like this all the time?” she asks.

“I’d still think you were beautiful,” he says.  Then remembers who he’s talking to.  He’d been watching her play with her hair.  He hadn’t been thinking.

But.  She giggles.  Actually giggles.  “Aw, Ward,” she says.  “You big softie.”

It makes him feel warm.  Very warm.  And she brushes her hand fondly over his shoulder as she walks out of the bathroom, and he feels warmer still.  She’s zipping on her boots.  They are black.  They are tall.

“Why would an agent be taking an alien trick or treating?” he asks.  “Shouldn’t the agent want the alien to stay at Area 51?”

“Well maybe the alien can control minds,” she says.  “And she’s using the agent to do her bidding.”

“Maybe he’d do her bidding without mind control,” Ward says.  “Maybe she would just have to ask nicely.”

“Maybe she did,” Skye says.  “Maybe that’s it.  She asked nicely and the agent just can’t say no to her.”

“No,” Ward replies, softly.  “He never can.”

She rises from her spot on the floor, now with boots.  Her legs.  Her legs her legs.  

“You look-” he swallows.  “You look good.”

She strokes a hand through her hair.  Lets him gaze at her and appreciate her and she’s so-She’s Skye.  “Grab a pillowcase,” she says, finally.  “Let’s go make some memories.”

She’s already made plenty for him.  But if she wants to make more, he’s not going to protest.  She did ask nicely, after all.

  
  


They have to walk a bit to get to a residential area, and Ward kind of wishes he had a car.  That would impress Skye, probably.  She probably knows lots of other guys with cars.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

She shakes her head.  “It’s been ten minutes,” she says.  “We’re almost there.  Walking is part of the experience!” she declares.

“Okay,” he tells her.  “But let me know if it’s too much.”

“It’s fine, Ward,” she says.  “Really.”

He nods, following her lead and her very shiny, silver butt which sways with each step in her heels.  God.  He’d follow that butt anywhere.  He’d follow Skye anywhere, really.

“So,” she says, in that tone he recognizes as probing.  “Your parents never took you trick or treating?”

He has to remind himself to keep walking.  “Nope.”

“No older siblings to do it either?”

Left foot.  Right foot.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  “My brother isn’t that kind of person.”

She smacks her lips.  “You know I’ve been passed through enough shitty households to know one when I hear about it,” she says.  “You don’t have to be ashamed.”

Now, he stills.  “I never said that my home life was shitty,” he says.

“You didn’t have to,” she replies.  “And it’s not the no trick or treating thing either.  It’s the way you said it.”

“How do I say it?” he asks.

She shrugs.  “Like you’d rather eat rocks then spend time with your parents.  Or older brother, I’m guessing.”

“That’s…” he pauses.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” she asks.

“Because it’s weird,” he says.  “It’s a weird thing to talk about and I’m just-”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Skye says.  “I put you on the spot.”

“I should’ve told you,” he says.  “Especially after you told me, you know.”

She tilts her head.  “Hey, Skye, it’s cool that you might not be human, also while we’re spilling secrets my parents are awful?” she’s made her voice deeper, like that’s how he sounds.  It’s almost enough to make him laugh.  He snickers, though, and she cracks a grin.  “You’re fine, Ward,” she says.  “I mean it.  There are no obligations with me.”

“Says the girl who dragged me trick or treating,” he says.

She fakes a gasp.  “Was that a real quip from you?” she replies.

“Just a comment,” he replies.  They start their walk again, and this time she loops her arm through his.

“Well maybe I dragged you trick or treating,” she says.  “But I think that’s better than leaving you to celebrate Halloween alone.”

“I’m used to it,” he says.

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t make it okay,” she says.  “I should probably point that out to you more.”

He feels her shoulder brush against his arm and it’s cold but not too cold, and she knows now, she knows and she still wants to hold his arm.  “Maybe you should,” he says.

“I will,” she tells him.  “Come on, I see houses with lights on.”  She tugs.  He follows.

  
  


They ring the doorbell of the first house and wait, which gives Ward enough time to look at the stickers on the windows.  Black cats and witches on broomsticks and jack-o-lanterns.  There’s a real jack-o-lantern on the doorstep, with a crooked smile that must’ve been cut out by a child.  Ward could probably make a really good jack-o-lantern, if anyone ever asked.  He has very steady hands.

The door opens, and Skye thrusts out her pillow case just like he’s seen on TV.  He follows suit.

“Trick-or-treat!” Skye exclaims, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her sound so young or sweet.  He’s not really sure how she does it.  She doesn’t even sound like Skye.

The owner of the home, who has to be a dad, stares down at her, then looks over to Ward, then back to Skye.  “Aren’t you two a little old to be trick or treating?” he asks.

Skye’s face falls.  “Wow,” she says, in her own voice again.  “I thought we were here for candy, not judgement.”

“Don’t you guys have a party to go to?” he asks.

“I skipped it to go trick or treating,” she says.  “And you’re ruining my night.”  She pouts, full on, with the quivering lip and the big, sad eyes.  Ward feels guilty, and he hasn’t even done anything.

The man sighs.  “One candy bar each,” he says.  Ward feels a chocolate bar drop to the bottom of the pillowcase.

“Thank you,” Skye says.  “You’re the best!”  She grabs Ward by the arm and pulls him down the steps, and he choses to ignore the way the man is shaking his head.  Skye seems happy, and so Ward is happy, too.

“We’ll get more candy,” she promises.  “He must just be in a mood, or something.  Kids probably egged his house.”  She stops.  “Hey-”

“I don’t think we should egg his house,” Ward says.  “He did give us candy.”

She clicks her tongue.  “When’d you learn to read my mind, robot?” she asks.

He’s not sure, actually.  And it’s a good question.  “You sometimes have very…obvious patterns,” he says.

“Wow,” she replies.  “Such analysis.  You’re like Sigmund Freud.”

“Maybe I would’ve gotten more candy if I was Freud,” he replies.  He thinks he sounds smug, though he doesn’t really feel smug.  Just…good.  He feels good, doing this with her.

She opens her mouth and lets out a noise that sounds like an “ah!” of surprise.  “Your costume is perfect!” she says.  “I thought of it myself.”

“Well then it has to be good,” he says.  And he means it, though he’s not sure if she can tell.

“Next house!” she declares, and they continue.

  
  


An hour and countless houses pass, and they have been less than successful.  Skye is lugging her still suspiciously light pillowcase, muttering about eggs and toilet paper.

“This is bullshit!” Skye says.  “Who says their has to be an age limit on trick-or-treating?”

Ward hates to see her so upset.  “Well maybe they think we’re taking candy from little kids.”

Skye makes a face.  “Right,” she says.  “Because they ‘deserve’ it.  Because it’s so hard to be a snot-nosed brat in a fucking Power Rangers costume who’s mommy and daddy love them enough to take them trick-or-treating.”  She huffs.  “Some of us don’t even have parents!” She yells, to an almost empty street.  “Who deserves candy more than us?”

“I don’t know,” Ward says.  “We can go buy candy, if you want.”

“It’s not the same,” she says.  She sighs.  “It’s not like we can give every household our life stories.”

“I’d really prefer we did the opposite of that,” Ward says.

“One last house,” she says.  “Then we’ll head back.”

He watches her shuffle her feet down the walkway, and there has to be something he can do.  There has to be-oh, she’s ringing the doorbell.

“Trick-or-treat,” she says, without her earlier enthusiasm.  It breaks Ward’s heart.  It does.

“Aren’t you guys a little old to be trick-or-treating?”

Skye sighs.  And no, Ward is not going to let her Halloween be ruined.  He acts on blind impulse, reaching out, grabbing for the orange, plastic bowl filled up with candy. 

“Hey!” protests the candy’s owner, but Ward’s stronger than he is, stronger than most people, and it doesn’t take much more than one quick tug to steal the bowl away.

Skye is staring at him, dumbstruck.  Think of something.  You’re halfway there!  He turns to her.  “Run!” he says, and she doesn’t have to be told twice.  They bolt as the man behind them yells curses, and a few pieces of candy spill out the side of the bowl but he’s running and Skye is running and she’s laughing and it’s so, so worth it. 

  
  


In one quick swish, Skye spills the candy out on his bed.  “You stole it,” she says, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.  Her hair is a mess and her makeup is running.  “Which was totally awesome, by the way.  Like the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He’s already red from the run, and he’s thankful for that.  “Yeah,” he says.  “But I stole it for you.”

She smiles at him, so sweetly that it makes his heart ache.  “Fair’s fair,” she says.  “You should get most of the candy.”

“I wouldn’t have even gone out and gotten it if not for you,” he says.  “You deserve it.  Remember?”

“Yeah,” she says, softly.  “I remember.”

He wants to touch her hair, smooth it down, but she shakes her head before he even lifts his hand, like she’s trying to shake out her thoughts.

He runs his hand over the back of his neck.  He needs a shower.  He’s hot.  Suits are not made for running.  “I don’t really eat candy.”

She grabs a king-sized Milky Way off the bed and hands it to him.  “Tonight you do,” she says.  She grabs a Fifth Avenue and taps it against his Milky Way, like clinking glasses.  “To my brave roommate,” she says, with flourish.  “Sigmund Freud.”

He laughs so hard his sides hurt.  Or maybe that’s from the running.


	9. Wraps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> skye sprains her ankle. ward tries not to overreact.

The first thing Ward hears when he steps into the room is Skye, cursing from the bathroom.  It says something, probably, that he’s so used to Skye cursing at any given moment that he’s just accepted it without question.  He doesn’t think much of it, not until he puts his bag on his bed and gets a better look into the bathroom.  Skye’s left the door open and she’s perched on the counter, cradling her leg with one arm while trying to- is she trying to wrap her ankle?

“Skye?” Ward asks, startling her, “are you okay?”  Skye has the end of a roll of bandage tape held between her teeth.

“Mhmm,” she mumbles.  She’s trying to get a better angle on her leg, but every time she tries to move her ankle she winces. 

“What’s with the tape?” He asks.  She stops fidgeting with her leg long enough to pull the tape out of her mouth.

“I sprained my ankle,” Skye says, like it’s not a big deal, “obstacle course day.” 

  
  


Ward is in the bathroom doorway so fast that Skye actually startles.

“You’re hurt?” he asks.  She seems to shrink under his gaze, like she’s worried he’s mad at her.

“Not really,” Skye says.  She sticks her leg out.  “Just a sprain.  Nothing life threatening.”

“Do you know how to wrap a sprain?” Ward says.  Skye looks down at the bandages, then back to him.

“Well,” she says, “I mean, it can’t be that hard.”  Ward comes into the bathroom without asking.  It’s a small room, just big enough for two people to be able to function in.  Well, two Skye sized people.  Ward takes up too much space.  He’s practically looming over Skye when he takes the bandage tape from her.

“Let me tape it,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Skye says.  “I almost had it.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Ward says.

“You’re not going to leave this bathroom until my ankle’s taped,” Skye says, “are you?”

“Nope,” Ward replies.  Skye points to the offending ankle.

“Then get to wrapping,” Skye says, “if you must.”  He smiles at her.  He shouldn’t smile.  She’s got an injury, and he had no idea.  He was just wandering about, while Skye had been hurt.  He never would’ve stopped to get water if he’d known.  How could he have been so selfish?

  
  


“Why didn’t you text me?” Ward asks, dropping to his knees to better examine Skye’s ankle.  It’s swollen, but not bruised.

“Weren’t you in class?” Skye asks.  Ward looks up at her.  It’s a funny angle to see her from.  He wonders if this is what it’s like to be Skye, looking at him.  Always looking up.

“Yeah,” he says, “but it wasn’t anything important.”  He gently places two fingers to the side of her ankle and she whines in pain.

“Sorry,” he says, “just checking.”

“For gold?” Skye says, “it’s an ankle.”

“To see if it’s broken,” Ward says.  “Can you rotate it?”  Skye sucks in a breath and nods.  She turns her foot slowly, curling her toes.  When she turns her foot to the right, she lets out a gasp of pain and tightens her grasp on the countertop.

“That’s about as far as I can get it,” Skye says.  Ward rests his hand on her good leg, just for a second.  He does it without thinking, but the contact makes his fingertips spark.

“Sorry,” he blurts, “sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Skye says, “I really didn’t mind.”  

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Ward says, “why didn’t you text me?  I would’ve come to get you.”

“You would’ve just left class.  For me,” Skye says.  She says it slowly, like she’s just making sure.

“Of course,” Ward says, “did you think I wouldn’t?”

Skye sighs, “I knew you would,” she says, “and I’m not worth your grades getting docked.”

“My grades are fine,” Ward says.  Because she said it was okay, and only because of that, Ward allows his hand to rest on her good leg.  When she adjusts her leg not out of his hand but into it, he lets himself slide his hand up her leg to her knee.  He rests his head against her leg, feeling the warmth of her skin against his cheek.

It feels safe.  It’s relaxing.  He almost forget why he’s sitting on the bathroom floor.

“I worry about you,” he tells her.  She places her hand over his.

“I know,” she says.  “I think you worry too much.”

  
  


“You’re special,” he tells her, “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”  She rubs her thumb over his knuckles.

“Do you mean ‘special’ in a one of a kind way or ‘special’ in a-” her voice drops to a whisper, “gifted way.”

“Both,” he says, “You’re trusting me to keep you safe.”

“I’m trusting you to be my friend, Ward,” she says, “not my bodyguard.  I can handle myself.”

“You sprained your ankle,” he notes.  

She scoffs. “Yeah, so what?  It was an accident on the stupid rope ladder.”

“How’d you get back to the room?” Ward asks.

“I limped.”  Ward frowns.  Skye rolls her eyes in response.  “What? Are you telling me you would’ve carried me back to our room?”

“If you’d needed me to!” he protests.  “Why didn’t you have someone take to you to the health center?”

“Coulson said I should stay away from SHIELD doctors,” Skye tells Ward, and he feels stupid for even asking.  “We had bandage tape under the sink.  I thought I could fix it myself.”

“Next time,” he says, “call me.  I’ll know what to do.”  Skye tucks her fingers under his hand.  He thinks she might protest, call him smothering or overbearing, and she’s not wrong and he’s not trying to be controlling he just needs to keep her safe-

“Okay,” she says, and squeezes his hand, “Next time, I’ll call you.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says.  Their eyes linger on each other for longer than he should.  He pats his hand on her knee, as if that will alleviate the tension building in his chest.

“I’m going to wrap your ankle to keep you from moving it too much,” Ward says, suddenly scrambling for the roll of bandage tape.  He misses the feeling of her skin on his, but tries not to let her know.

“You won’t need to keep it like this for long,” he continues, “but just humor me for the rest of the day.”

  
  


Ward’s wrapped his own ankles countless times, to the point where he should have it down to muscle memory; but Skye is smaller than him, drastically so, and when he brushes the bandage against the sole of her foot she giggles.

“You’re ticklish?” Ward asks.  

“A little,” Skye says, “but if you tickle me, I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the face.”  He smiles at her, which is an odd thing to do when threatened.  When he wraps the bandage a second time around her foot, he is careful not to brush his fingers against the balls of her feet.  If he tickled her, she might jerk her foot and make the sprain worse.  He’ll just have to keep that in his head for another day.

“You said you sprained it on the rope ladder, right?” Ward says.  He’s gotten to her ankle, and though she winces when he wraps it around her sprained spot she doesn’t tell him to stop.

“Yeah,” Skye says, “you make it look so easy.”  Ward pauses.  He looks up.  Skye’s staring down at him. The bathroom lighting is filtering through the strands of her hair and-he was going to ask her something?  About? The obstacle course.  Right.

“You’ve seen me run the obstacle course?” Ward asks, “when?”

“I dunno, a few times,” she says, swinging her free leg.  “You do physical drills a lot and I don’t have class on Tuesday afternoons so sometimes I go to the obstacle course to watch.”

“To watch me,” Ward says.  Skye smiles, and it would look bashful on anyone else.

“Not originally!” Skye says, “But when I realized that it was your class time, yeah, I went to watch you.  You’re pretty incredible.”  Ward wonders if he should be embarrassed or flattered or anything other than completely and totally incapable of forming even the most simple of sentences.

“Oh,” he says.  He’s not one for high praise.  Or any praise, really.  What is he supposed to say?  No, don’t watch me, it’ll make me nervous?  If I knew you were there, I’d work even harder to impress you?  Do you really think I’m incredible?”

“It’s so effortless for you,” Skye sighs, breaking Ward’s bubble of thought, “I get on the rope ladder and look at me.”  She gestures to her ankle.  Ward realizes that he hasn’t finished wrapping her ankle.  Shaking his head, he wraps the bandage around the sprain another time.

“The trick to the rope ladder is balance,” Ward tells her, staring firmly at the bandage and not at her face, “the more you move the more the ladder moves.  Then you try to move more to stay steady and-”

“You end up with a sprained ankle,” Skye says.  Ward finishes the wrap and pats her good leg.  Again.  It feels as awkward as it looks.

  
  


“Let me help you back to your bed,” Ward says.  He stands slowly.  His legs are stiff from sitting cross-legged for so long, but he’s quick enough to catch Skye by the shoulder when she tries to get off the counter.

“I can walk,” Skye protests, “I’m all taped up!”

“Put your arms around my neck,” Ward says.  Skye blinks up at him.  “Come on.” 

“You’re not carrying me like, three yards,” Skye says.  “I’m fine.”

“I am carrying you ‘like, three yards,’” he says.  He even raises his pitch on the last part, so that she knows he’s teasing her.  He can be funny.  He can!  She lifts her eyebrows at him.  That’s almost a laugh. 

“I can lift you even if you don’t wrap your arms around me,” he says.

“Fine,” Skye says, crossing her arms, “do it, tough guy.”  He shouldn’t even respond.  She just called him ‘tough guy,’ and that’s a clear sign to walk away from the situation.  

  
  


So he tucks one arm under her knees and wraps the other around her back, and he lifts her off the counter.

“Hey!” she says, “I said I was walking.”

“No,” Ward says, “you said I should try to lift you.”  He’s careful not to hit Skye’s head on the doorway as he carries her out of the bathroom.

“You’re ridiculous,” Skye says.  She’s still got her arms crossed, and she’s leaning her head against the crook of his arm.  She fits perfectly in his arms, pressed to his chest.  He wouldn’t have minded carrying her across campus like this, if she’d called him.  He wouldn’t have minded one bit.

“I’m just,” he says, placing her down on her bed, “I’m trying to take care of you.”

“You said that,” Skye says, “in so many words.”  She’s sprawled out on her bed, hair fanned around her head.  She looks up at him and he thinks he should turn on a light, or something.  The sun is setting, and the sunlight in the bedroom is fading fast.

“Sit,” Skye says, and he settles onto the floor beside her bed in an instant.  Skye rolls onto her side, runs her fingers in his hair.  He shuts his eyes.

“What are we going to do about dinner?” Skye says, “Are you going to carry me to dining?”

“Do you want me to?” Ward asks.

“Just bring me back something, whenever you go,” Skye says.  She’s quiet for a moment, and Ward focuses on the feeling of her nails against his scalp.

“Thanks for patching me up,” she says.  He leans his head back, so that it rests on her mattress.

“Of course,” he says.  “Anytime.”


	10. Sleeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ward meets fitz and simmons.

There is something stuck to Ward’s forehead.  His eyes are still closed, but he can feel it.  Two somethings, stuck above his eyebrows.  He’s not even fully awake yet. Why is there something stuck to his face?  He wrinkles his nose, his forehead, shuts his eyes more tightly, all in the hope that he will manage to dislodge whatever is on his face off his face without having to get out of bed.

“Oh, oh no, don’t do that-” says someone who is not Skye, but is definitely a girl.

“Is he waking up?” asks someone else, a boy.  There are strangers in his room.  Ward’s eyes snap open.  There are two elves looming over him.  He thinks they’re elves, at least.

  
  


Ward does what anyone with his SHIELD training would do: he lets out a shout of surprise, tries to get out bed, realizes his feet are tangled in his sheets, and rolls off the side of his bed and onto the floor.

“Ow,” he manages.

“Are you alright?” the girl asks.

“Are the EEGs alright?” the boy asks.

“Fitz!” the girl says.

“What?” replies the boy named Fitz, “he looks sturdy!  And the EEGs are expensive!”  Ward kicks off his sheets while Fitz and the girl argue.  Where is Skye?  Is she here?  Ward rises from the floor, and the two of them suddenly hush.  They stare at him, wide eyed.

“You’re tall,” says the girl.  “How tall are you?”

“Six-two,” Ward says.  The girl blinks up at him, and Ward wonders why he was so quick to answer.  The boy-the Fitz, is looking at Ward’s legs.  Not his legs.  Ward had been sleeping in a pair of boxer briefs.  Fitz is-Ward quickly grabs the sheet from the floor and wraps it around his waist.  Like a skirt.  Or a toga.

“Who are you guys?” Ward asks, when that should’ve been the first thing he did,  “And why are you sticking things to my face?”

  
  


“Oh,” the girl says, like she’s surprised he’s asking questions, “Fitz.” She’s pointing at the boy.

“Simmons,” Fitz says, pointing to the girl.  “I’m engineering, she’s biochem.”

“You’re loud as fuck is what you are,” Skye says.  The sound of her creaky morning voice startles Ward.  Two times in one morning.  He is jumpy today.

“Well we were being quiet,” Simmons says, “until the subject woke up.”

“Subject?” Ward asks.  His voice almost cracks.

“Sleep study,” Fitz says.  Ward is finally awake enough to hear that Fitz has an accent.  So does Simmons.  Different types of British.

“Why are you doing a sleep study on me?” Ward asks, “Why did no one ask if I wanted to be studied?”

“Skye said you were fine with it!” Simmons protests.

“Ugh, Simmons,” Skye groans.  She has the audacity to roll over.  After signing Ward up for a sleep experiment.  Without asking.

  
  


Maybe he’s sleep deprived.  Maybe he’s trying to make a statement to two strangers that you can’t just come into a boy’s room and perform studies on him.  Maybe he wants an excuse to give Skye a hard time.  Whatever it is, Ward sincerely thinks that the best thing to do is march over to Skye’s bed and pull back all her covers.

“Hey!” she shrieks, kicking at him, “put those back.”  He looks down at her, she looks up at him, and then she starts to giggle.

“Those things on your face look ridiculous,” Skye says.

“They’re not ‘things,’” Simmons says, pulling at Ward’s arm.  He didn’t even notice she was standing next to him.  Fitz is also next to him, grabbing at Ward’s shirt so that he’ll learn down.  Ward makes a noise to protest being pulled at, but they ignore him.

“They’re wireless EEGs,” Fitz says.  “Simmons, hold his head still?” Simmons has tiny, cold hands and they’re grabbing at Ward’s jaw while Fitz plucks the sticky things off of Ward’s forehead.

“This is much easier when you’re asleep,” Fitz says.

“I hope the readings come out alright for today,” Simmons says, “he moved around so much.”  They release him from their surprisingly tight grip, and Ward stumbles back.  Simmons goes for her bag, conveniently placed on Ward’s desk.

“It’ll have to do,” she says.  Skye’s swung her bare legs over her bed, kicking them carelessly in the air.  Fitz and Simmons keep chattering.  Something about brain waves and sleep cycles and how can two woodland creatures be so loud?

  
  


“Excuse me,” Ward says, louder than he needs to.  Three heads turn to look at  him.  He coughs.  He feels as though there’s a bug caught in his throat.  “Um.  Hi.”

“Hi?” Simmons says.  “Can we…help you?”

“Why are you running a sleep study on me?” he asks.  Fitz and Simmons look at each other, back to him, and then at each other again.

“Well,” Fitz says, rubbing at the back of his head, “Skye said you were a heavy sleeper.”

“The heaviest I’ve ever met!” Skye says.  Proudly.  Well, if she thinks it’s something to be proud of-no.  No, he is not going to just fall for her smile and her just-woke-up hair and her legs.  He will not!

“Don’t you have people who sign up for these things?” Ward asks.  Simmons smiles.  She’s almost embarrassed.

“Well, it’s funny, but-”

“No one in SciOps wants to sign up for our experiments,” Fitz continues, “which is silly, really-”

“But everyone seems so afraid of us!  And it’s just a sleep study, and we really, really needed to do it-”

“And we weren’t hurting you or putting anything in your water, it was harmless, really-”

“Wow,” Ward says, which silences Fitz and Simmons in an instant.  Which he feels guilty about.  They actually seem weirdly afraid of him, probably because of the height thing.  He doesn’t want them to fear him.  Even if they’ve been conducting sleep studies on him.  They’re so…small.  How is he supposed to stay mad at them?

  
  


“You looked cute, actually” Skye decides, “with those sticky thingys on your forehead.  Like little antennae.”  She wiggles her index fingers, making little horns.  Oh wait-not horns.  Little antennae.  That would make more sense.  It’s disarmingly charming.  Ward was thinking about something else, right?  Not about Skye her bed, wrinkling her nose at him.  Smiling.  Sitting there in her tank top.  Oh no, don’t think about the tank top.  He had been doing so well!  If he squints, he can kind of see the outline of her-

“Ward?” Simmons asks, “Ward, did we lose you?”

“Um,” Ward replies, “were you guys still talking?”  Fitz and Simmons look offended.  Which, by the way, they have no right to be-they’re the ones who were studying him in his  _sleep_!  He feels bad anyway.  They’ve obviously been working very hard on this.

“What did I miss,” Ward asks, mostly in a sigh.

“We were just wondering if we could study you a couple more nights,” Simmons says, smiling a little too hard.  Fitz mirrors it.  

“We desperately need the data,” Fitz says. “We had to start late, because we couldn’t find any subjects, and-”

“You’re an ideal subject, really,” Simmons babbles.  The two of them don’t seem to breathe, just chatter on and on about science.  He can’t zone out again.  Skye is looking at her split ends, twisting her hair around her fingers.  No!  Focus, Ward.  Focus!

  
  


“So, what do you think?” Fitz says.  Fuck.  He zoned out again.

“Sounds great!” Ward says.  Simmons claps her hands in excitement.  Fitz is grinning, not in the manic way, not like before, but he’s happy about something.  That makes Ward nervous.  He barely knows them.  And what did he just agree to?

“I’ll go get the cotton swabs!” Simmons announces.  “Be back in a tick!”  She grabs her bag with flourish, practically bouncing out of the room.  Fitz actually  _pats_ Ward on the arm, and doesn’t even notice the look Ward gives him.  Skye does, though, and she’s giggling to herself as Fitz follows Simmons out.

“What did I just agree to?” Ward asks.  Skye smiles in a way that is self-satisfied and entirely too pretty.

“Seriously?” Skye says. “Are you really that tired?”

“Um,” Ward says, “maybe? What are they going to do to me?”

“Oh, nothing,” Skye says, “they’re just going to ‘round out their data.’” She puts air-quotes around that last bit.  “You know, get your heart rate, a cell sample from your cheek, probably a blood sample, they’re definitely going to want you to pee in a cup-”

“It’s a  _sleep study!_ ” Ward insists.

“Hey, you agreed to it,” she teases.  Ward is regretting even opening his eyes this morning, really.  And to make matters worse, Skye takes his silence as a moment to stretch.  With her arms above her head and her back arched.  “And you know what I didn’t agree to?  Waking up early.”  She falls back into her bed.  “Tuck me in.”

“It’s ten,” Ward says.  Don’t look at her legs.  Don’t look at her boobs.  Look at her face.  Her sweet, sleepy face.

“If you fall asleep,” Ward says, “I’ll let Fitz and Simmons put EEGs on you.”

“Tuck me in, asshole,” Skye says.  He can’t say no to her.  Not when she looks up at him with half-lidded eyes.  And that smile.  The one she gives him in their quiet moments.  Like they’re both in on some deep, dark secret, but it’s okay because they have each other.  Maybe he’s projecting.  He pulls up Skye’s blankets.

“Something on your mind?” Skye asks, snuggling under her covers.  Too many things.  Way too many.  For starters-

  
  


“I have the cup!” Simmons exclaims, as the door slams into the wall.  She’s waving it around.  So they do want him to-well, fuck. Fitz is behind her, with an actual stethoscope.

“Hey, nerds,” Skye says, “take him back to your room.  I’m sleeping.”  Fitz and Simmons flock to Ward without asking, grabbing his wrists and pulling him towards the door.

“Can you give me a second to put pants on?” Ward asks.

“If you really need to,” Simmons says.


	11. Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ward likes skye. fitzsimmons are here to help. at least, they call it help.

Grant Ward isn’t sure how he got here.  On his back.  With Fitzsimmons, as he called them.  Staring at the ceiling, while the two of them babbled on and on and ON about whatever was happening in Sci Ops right now.  Fitz’s going on about some kind of gun, which might be interesting, and Simmons is making the bullets for it.  Wait, no, she’s making the toxin that goes in the bullets.  Ward misses Skye.  He can understand her babble.  Plus, she doesn’t make him lay on the floor.  Well, no one is  _making_ him lay on the floor, but he certainly wouldn’t be comfortable laying on Fitz’s bed. 

“Do you think I’m good looking?” Ward asks the ceiling.

“What?” Simmons says, and suddenly she’s looming over him, blocking out the light with her head.  “Why would you ask that?”

“You’re too good looking, really,” Fitz says.  Now he’s leaning over Ward, too, his head touching Simmons’.  “You’re the cliché of what good looking is supposed to look like.”

“Thanks Fitz,” Ward adds.  He’d be worried about the subtext in that sentence last week, but he’s used to it by now.  He has no idea what Fitz is, or what Simmons is, or if they even have a categorizable sexual orientation.  Also, Ward only knows like, three orientations, so there’s that.

  
  


“But really, Ward,” Simmons asks.  “Why would you ever ask that?”

“Because he’s jealous,” Fitz replies.  They’re staring at him like he’s a specimen under a microscope.  Studying him.

“Jealous of what?” Simmons says.  “Oh, jealous of all those boys Skye-”

“I’m fine,” Ward says.  “It was just a question.”

“You’re burning with jealousy,” Fitz says.

“I don’t see why,” Simmons adds.  “You’re just as handsome as that last one.  What was his name?  He was tall and blond and-”

“Stephen,” Ward grumbles.  “Freshman.  SpecOps.”

“Oh,” Simmons says.  “Oh.  I see.”

“You see?” Fitz asks.

“I see,” Simmons replies.

“No one is seeing anything,” Ward tells them.  “I’m not jealous of Stephen.  He’s a terrible student.  Why would I be jealous of that?”

“Because he slept with Skye?” Fitz asks.  A question that is not actually a question.

“And you haven’t,” Simmons adds.  “Though everyone at this school knows you want to.”

“Wait,” Ward says, suddenly sitting up.  “Wait.  Everyone?”

“Even the teachers,” Fitz says.

  
  


This might mean that Coulson knows, too.  Ward shudders to himself at the thought.  Coulson had just brought coffee to the roommates, on Sunday morning.  Had Ward been experiencing symptoms of poisoning since then?  He tries to think back.  He seems okay.  Or maybe Coulson is giving him very low doses, and eventually Ward’s heart is just going to stop beating.  Maybe Coulson doesn’t know.  Coulson isn’t technically a teacher.

“Ward?” Fitz asks, “You still with us?”

“Do I look paler than usual?” Ward asks.

“Not at all,” Simmons says.  “You look fine.”

“Are there any poisons that work in low doses over a long period of time?” Ward says.

Simmons brings a hand to her chin.  “Well, yes-”

“Simmons,” Fitz interrupts.

“What?” Simmons says.  Fitz gives her a look, with raised eyebrows and widened eyes and a head tilt that Ward knows is totally in his general direction.  “Oh,” Simmons says.  “Right.”

“Guys?” Ward says.  “I might be dying here.”

“You’re fine,” Simmons decides.

“Never looked better,” Fitz adds.  “We were talking about Skye?”

“We were talking about Ward-and-Skye,” Simmons says.

“We were talking about Ward being in love with Skye, right?” Fitz says.

“Yes, we certainly were,” Simmons says.

“Guys!” Ward says.  “I know what we were talking about.”

“You should’ve just said so,” Fitz replies.  “Honestly, Ward.”

“I got a little off track,” Ward says.  “Since apparently everyone thinks I’m in love with Skye?”

  
  


FitzSimmons share another round of facial expressions with each other.  Ward wishes for the life of him that he could figure out what they’re saying.

“Everyone doesn’t think you’re in love with her,” Simmons finally says.  “Everyone knows.  We certainly know.  Don’t we, Fitz?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fitz says.  “You’re head over heels for her.”

“Over the moon,” Simmons adds.

“Hung up,” Fitz says.

“You’re practically besotted!” Simmons chirps.

“Okay, I don’t even know what that last one means,” Ward says, raising his hands in a sign for them to please stop talking.  “I get it, though.  I like Skye.  Happy?”

“You don’t have to use that tone,” Simmons says.  “We’re only trying to help.”

Ward lets out a sigh and runs his hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry,” he starts.

“Apology accepted,” Fitz says.

“I’m sorry,” Ward says again, with gritted teeth.  “And I was  _going_ to say that even if I did like Skye, it’s not like I would be able to do anything about it.  She’s not interested.”

  
  


This time, Ward catches on to the silent exchange between Fitzsimmons.  At least, he thinks he does.

“Guys?” Ward says.  “Something I should know?”

They look guilty.  The definitely look guilty.

“Well,” Simmons says.  “We shouldn’t tell you this.”

“We really, really shouldn’t tell you this,” Fitz says.

“She’ll kill us,” Simmons continues.

“Okay,” Ward says.  He hates to play this card, but if he doesn’t find out he will literally rip his own hair out.  “So she kills you, or I do.  Your call.”

They laugh at him.  They giggle like little schoolchildren.  He’s doomed.  Not just in romance, but in life.  This just seals it.

“You can’t tell her we told you,” Simmons says.  Apparently a good laugh is excuse enough for them to open up.

“But Skye fancies you,” Fitz says.  “She’s fancied you since she moved in.”

“She knows you like her,” Simmons says.

Ward’s lungs shrivel up and die, right then and there.  Or maybe he does.  It’s hard to tell.

“She does?” he says, in a voice higher than it should be.

“Oh yes,” Simmons says.  “She’s been trying to get you to move in for ages, Ward.  She’s going to strangle you if you don’t cave soon.” 

All Ward can picture is Skye straddling his lap, her tiny hands wrapped around his neck.  Fuck.  No, don’t think of that.  Oh God, what sounds do words make?  How does talking work?

  
  


“Ward?” Fitz asks, for the second time today.  “Are you alright?”

“No?” Ward says.  “I don’t-I?”

“Honestly, I think she should just make the first move,” Simmons says.  “But she thinks you’re fragile.”

That hits like cold water.  “Wait,” Ward says.  “She thinks I’m  _fragile?_ ”

“Well not physically,” Simmons says.  “But emotionally.  She worries about you, you know.”

“She doesn’t want to push you into anything,” Fitz says.  “She’s not sure you’re comfortable with the idea of having casual sex.”

“Or sex at all, really,” Simmons says.  She leans in close.  Like they’re conspiring.  “You don’t know this, but she thinks you might be a virgin.”

Ward bites the inside of his cheek. He might as well just say it.  “I am,” he says.

“You’re what?” Fitz asks.

“A virgin,” Ward whispers.  “I’m a virgin.”

“Oh,” Simmons says.  “Oh.  That certainly changes things.”

“Yeah,” Ward says.  “I guess it does.”

  
  


Fitz sits down next to Ward first, pats him on the back, and then actually wraps one skinny arm around Ward’s waist.  Like Ward isn’t still reeling from being slapped on the back.  And then Simmons does the exact same thing.   He’s got two tiny scientists on either side of him, their tiny heads on his shoulders and their tiny arms around his waist.

“Um,” Ward says, like an adult.

“I think you’re being to hard on yourself, really,” Fitz says.  “I think it’s sweet that you want to wait.  You didn’t strike me as the type, but-”

“Guys,” Ward says.

“But I’m sure Skye would be willing to respect that if you just told her, not wanting to have sex is a perfectly viable-” Simmons continues.

“Guys,” Ward says again.

“Option.  Plenty of people are like that, what a silly thing to be worried-”

“Guys!” Ward announces.  “I’m not waiting.  I mean, maybe I am.  It’s not like, I don’t know?  I’m not waiting for marriage, it’s just that sex never really been an option for me.”

Fitz looks at him.  Simmons looks at him.

“Never an option?” Simmons asks.

“Have you seen you?” Fitz adds.

“I didn’t always look like this,” Ward grumbles.  “And it’s not that simple.”

“Well, okay,” Simmons says.  “Explain it to us, then.”

“Do I have to?” Ward asks.

“Do you want to be with Skye?” Fitz asks back.  “Your call, mate.”

  
  


Ward slumps his shoulders.  “I want it on the record that I hate this,” Ward says.

“What record?” Simmons asks.

“I-” Ward says.  “Never mind.”

“You’re so odd,” Fitz says.  “Skye’s stories really don’t do you justice.”

“What stories?” Ward asks.

“Not important,” Simmons says.  “We were talking about your virginity?”

Ward pauses for a beat.  He’s waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him, indoors, and put him out of his misery.  No such luck.

“It’s not something I like to announce,” Ward says.  “I’m not even twenty, guys.  I don’t see why it’s that big of a deal anyway.”

“It wasn’t,” Simmons says.

“Until you fell for Skye,” Fitz says.

Ward frowns.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Until I fell for Skye.”

“Which was?” Simmons asks.

“Week two of academy,” Ward mumbles.

“You poor thing,” Simmons says.

Ward shakes his head.  “It’s not like that.  I don’t care about sex.  Well, I do, but I care about her more.  And it’s not like I woke up and realized how I felt.  I just wanted to keep her safe, is all.”

“You’re in love with her, though,” Simmons says.

“So this semester can’t have been easy on you,” Fitz adds.

“But she’s had a great semester,” Ward says.  “And that’s more important.”

“Her happiness doesn’t have to come at the cost of yours,” Fitz says.  “Did no one ever teach you that?”

“Guess not,” Ward says.  His tone is low enough to create a ripple of concern.

  
  


“Okay,” Simmons says.  “Okay, I have a plan.  Stand up.”  

She stands first, bouncing to her heels with grace.  Fitz follows, and Ward takes an extra second to pull himself back up to his feet.  He doesn’t understand why they want him standing.  He towers over them.  They look up at him, and if he wasn’t nervous before, he definitely is now.

“We’re going to help you get Skye,” Simmons says.  “She likes you, you like her, you should be together!”

“Can’t I be sitting for that?” Ward asks.

Simmons crosses her arms.  Point made.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Ward says.  “I mean, she thinks I’m fragile.  And I’m in no way as experienced as she is, so she’ll probably just laugh at me if I tried to have sex with her, and-”

Simmons makes a noise that is something like an aggressive bird chirp.  Ward blinks down at her.

“None of that,” she says.  “None of that from you, Ward.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Fitz says.  “Simmons and I were virgins before we met.”

“So then you two are a thing?” Ward asks. 

They shrug. “We’re a lot of things,” Fitz says.

“A lot,” Simmons agrees.

“Time out,” Ward says.

“We haven’t started yet,” Fitz tells him.

Ward ignores him.  He feels a weight pulling his heart down.  They can’t plan this whole thing.  Not for him.

“I can’t be ‘a lot of things,” he says.  “I can’t have sex with Skye and then see her having sex with other guys.  It’s stupid, but this whole…sex thing.  It means something to me, okay?  And it doesn’t have to mean anything for her.  It shouldn’t, if she doesn’t want it to.  I can’t ask her to carry my problems.”

“Wow,” Simmons says.

“Wow,” Fitz agrees.

“You are a gentle soul,” Simmons says.  She pats his cheek.  “Don’t worry.  We’re here to help.”

He doesn’t feel any less worried.

  
  


“Okay,” Ward says, slowly.  “So what’s the plan?”

Simmons gives a bright smile.  Never a good sign.  “We’re going to walk you through your sordid confession.  I’ll be Skye-”

“Why can’t I be Skye?” Fitz asks.  “I think I could play a very convincing Skye.”

Simmons nods.  “Fitz will be Skye,” Simmons says.

“Wait, why?” Ward says.  “Why is Fitz going to be Skye?”

“Tell me you love me,” Fitz says.

“No!” Ward says, and he maybe looks more scandalized than he should.

“I really hope you don’t say that to Skye,” Simmons says.  “You would’ve just broken her heart, there.”

“You did,” Fitz says.  “You broke my heart.”

“What am I supposed to be doing, here?” Ward asks.

“Tell Skye you love her,” Simmons says.  “Wasn’t that obvious?”

“Not really,” Ward says.

“Try again,” Simmons says.  “Fitz is Skye.  Give it your best shot.”

Ward takes in a deep breath.  He looks down at an expectant Fitz.  “Skye,” he starts.

“Yes, Ward?” Fitz says.

“Okay, wait, can you not talk when I’m trying to do this?” Ward says.

“You can’t tell her not to talk,” Simmons says.  “That’s downright rude.”

“I’m hurt,” Fitz says, bringing a hand to his chest.  “He’s hurt my feelings and I don’t love him anymore.”

“Skye, I’minlovewithyou,” Ward blurts out, if only to get it over with.

Fitz looks back up at Ward and bats his eyelashes.  “What was that, Ward?” he asks.

“I said,” Ward is nervous, actually nervous, and this is only a simulation. “Skye, I’m in love with you.”

Fitz lets out a noise that is probably supposed to sound like girlish delight, and wraps his arms around Ward’s neck.

“I thought you’d never say it,” Fitz says.  “Kiss me, Ward.”

“I’m not kissing you, Fitz,” Ward says, standing there with his arms hanging at his sides.

“You were doing so well, too,” Simmons says, with a sigh.

Fitz drops his arms.  “Maybe it would help him if I put on a dress,” Fitz suggests.

“A dress could be helpful,” Simmons says.

“Maybe we should all put on dresses,” Fitz adds.

“That does sound like a good plan,” Simmons decides.

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Ward tells them.  “Guys, I’m not putting on a dress.  I don’t even understand why you think I should.”

“It’s for science,” Simmons says.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I thought this was about me and Skye?” Ward asks.  “Guys?”

“Well if you’re still hung up on that,” Fitz says.  “Then fine.”

“Tell him again,” Simmons say.  “Be less wooden this time.”

“Skye,” Ward says, now confused and a bit worried about the fact that he might have to wear a dress, “I love you.  I’ve been in love with you for a while, and you don’t have to love me back, but I think you deserve my honesty, and that’s honestly how I feel about you.”

  
  


Simmons claps.  “Beautiful!” she says.

“Brought a tear to my eye,” Fitz agrees.

“Now, about the sex,” Simmons says.  “We should rehearse that.”

“I just-” Ward says.  “I just said I wasn’t comfortable having sex with her.”

“She’s probably going to want to have sex with you, though,” Fitz says.  “After a confession like that.  I know I do.”

Would she?  Would she really?  Would she actually throw her arms around his neck, and kiss him right there?  Is he blushing?  He feels like he’s blushing.

“But then what?” Ward says.  “I can’t use her like that.”

“She’s using you, I think,” Simmons says.

“That doesn’t help,” Ward says.

“You don’t know if she’s going to just kick you to the curb,” Fitz says.  “She likes you a lot.  I could see her dating you.”

“I don’t want her to do anything she’s not comfortable with,” Ward says.  “I don’t even think I need to tell her how I feel.  It’s just going to annoy her.”

“You are going to tell her how you feel,” Simmons insists.  “And I promise it will not annoy her.”

“She’s pretty head over heels for you too, Ward,” Fitz says.

“Really?” Ward asks.

“Absolutely!” Fitz says.  He punctuates this by giving Ward another sturdy slap on the back.

“I have the utmost faith in you,” Simmons says.  “But just to be sure.  Let’s run through it again.”

“With dresses?” Ward asks.

Simmons claps her hands.  “Thank you for reminding me!” She scurries off to her closet.  Ward sighs for what feels like an eternity.  But.  But.

  
  


Skye likes him.  She’s  _head over heels for him._ And if he’s smiling, it might be because he’s never felt this happy in his whole life.


	12. Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant ward has the best night of his life so far.

“You’re staring again,” Skye teases.

Ward hadn’t noticed.  He’d been out of focus.  She’d been doing her homework, cross legged on her bed, notebook perched on her laps.  She would scrunch her nose and tap her pencil against paper, chew on her hair, shift her legs and stretch.  And he would stare without meaning to, until his world went fuzzy.  It’s happened before.  It’s been happening more often.

“Sorry,” he says.  “I was-”

“Daydreaming?” she asks.  Her teeth aren’t perfect but they’re always so white, a little crooked in the front and- “Ward.  Holy crap.  Are you high, or something?”

He blinks.  Head over heels.  Head over heels.  Now could work.  Say something.  Say something!

“I’m exhausted,” he says.

“That’s new,” she says.  “But not unexpected.”

“What?” he replies.

She shifts, again.  Hugs her knee to her chest.  At least it’s getting colder.  At least it’s leggings, black, and not shorts.  Short.

“You’re always working out or doing homework or like, saving orphans and kittens from burning buildings,” Skye says.  She twists a lock of hair around her finger.  “You’re bound to run out of steam.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “I guess I am.”

  
  


Then she gives him one of her up-to-no-good grins, and he feels his stomach drop.

“I mean,” she says.  “I guess you’re too tired to go to this totally awesome thing I was planning to do with FitzSimmons tonight.”

Oh no.  Oh, no.  “What thing?” he asks.

“Well, I know you’re anti-fun,” Skye starts, drawing out her words like she always does when she’s about to suggest something bad.

“I’m anti-breaking the law,” Ward says.  “I like fun.  I love fun.  I live for fun, really.”

She smiles, and it is like he’s forgotten how to speak.  “Sure, nerd,” she says.  “But really.  Don’t freak out.”

“I really hate when you use that as a preface,” he says.

“We’re going to sneak into the pool and go for a swim.  It’s heated all winter, and no one uses it!”  She is on the edge of her bed, now, all excitement and flourish.  “It’s going to be amazing.”

  
  


He has gone still.  His hands are balled into fists.  He’s in space, again.  Staring off.  It’s a different space, this time.

“Ward?” Skye asks.  “Grant?”

He shakes his head.  His shoulders.  He tries to bring his whole body back to life.

“I’m not one for swimming,” he says.

She’s pursed her lips.  Both legs down, feet on the floor.  She rests her elbows on her knees, knits her fingers together.  She screams ‘I am concerned’ with her body, and that is the exact opposite of what he wanted.

“Is that it?” she asks.  “Or is there more?”

His eyes fall to his own knees.  Secrets became a rarity sometime between her admitting she was gifted and him telling her he’d carry her across campus.

“I don’t like pools,” he says.  “Oceans.  Lakes.  Reservoirs.”

“What are your feelings on quarries?” she asks.

He looks up, and she is offering him a smile.  He tries to give her one back.  “No quarries, either.”

“Hydrophobia?” she asks.

“I don’t have phobias,” he says.  “I just don’t like being near water.”

“That’s-” she says.  “It’s okay.  You don’t have to come out.”

He must look pretty sad, in that moment, because she actually gets up from her bed and comes over to his.  She sits down next to him and wraps a slender arm around his shoulders.

“You can tell me more, if you want,” Skye says.  “I’ll understand.”

“I want to come with you guys,” he says.  He’s tracing his fingers against her back without meaning to.  “It’s just-I had a really bad experience.”

“When?” she asks.

  
  


There are too many answers.  So he swallows most of them and says, “Last year.”  She nestles against him.  Her hair brushes his hand as his fingers climb her back.  “It’s a stupid thing that the spec-ops kids do but-” he reaches the nape of her neck and strokes her skin.  She lets out a light sigh without meaning to.  “They threw me in the pool and I-” you can do this, you can do this.  “I freaked out.”

She looks up at him.  “Why?” she asks, quietly.

“I,” he says.  “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she says.  “We could stay in.  You could talk.  I’ll just listen, if you want.”

He could talk to her.  Tell her everything.  Absolutely all of it.  He’s not ready.  He wants to be, for her.  But he just isn’t.  “I thought you wanted to go swimming,” he says.

“I want to hang out with you,” she says.

He could kiss her, right now.  It would be wildly inappropriate in context, a breach of her trust, a disregard for what she wants.  She’s so close that he’s practically aching.  But no.  Her happiness first.  Her happiness always.

“I want you to go swimming,” he says.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she replies.

“Then I’ll come with you,” he says.

She tightens her grip on his shoulder.  “I don’t want you to force yourself,” she says.  “Grant, you don’t ever have to force yourself to do anything for me.”

She has no idea.  “Maybe I need a good experience,” he says.  “With a pool.  Maybe I just haven’t gotten the chance to have one, yet.  This could be that chance.”

“Are you sure?” she says.  “If you’re not comfortable with it-”

“I’ll adjust,” he says.  “I mean, I was uncomfortable with having a female roommate, and I adjusted.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have a phobia of women,” Skye says.  “Do you?”

“I don’t have a phobia of women,” he says.

“Good,” she says.  “Because that would be really awkward.”

Right.  It’s not awkward at all right now.  Just two roommates, sitting super close to each other.  Just Skye and Ward.  She lifts her chin, smiles at him.

“I’m proud of you,” she decides.

“I haven’t done anything,” he says.

“You’re facing your fears,” she says.  “And so I’m proud of you.”

Kiss her kiss her don’t kiss her definitely kiss her she’s right there, fucking hell, “I’m not-”

  
  


Skye’s phone pings on her bed.  Her head leaves the crook of Ward’s arm, as she pulls herself off the bed and out of Ward’s reach.  He notices that his hand is still in the air, where it was when it was tangled in her hair.  He clamps his hand back down onto his knee before she can notice.

“Simmons says one am,” Skye says.  “For pool shenanigans, I mean.  You’re in?”

“Like, one am tonight?” Ward says.

“Yeah,” Skye says.  “I can tell them no.”

“I’m in,” he says, hoping he at least sounds confident.

“Okay,” she says.  Her fingers dash across her phone.  “You should try to sleep before we go,” she continues.  “Since I know you like getting your eight hours.”

“Are you going to bed?” Ward asks.

Skye shakes her head.  “I’ve got to stay up and finish my homework for History of SHIELD.”  She curls her lip in disgust.

“That class is pretty awful,” Ward says.  “And if you’re not sleeping, I’m not.”

Skye can only roll her eyes.  “Ward, seriously.  Get some rest.  I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”

He’s not that tired, but she’s got a point.  If he doesn’t sleep now, he’ll be tired when they go down to the pool.  And thats…not a good plan, for him.  He should be as awake as possible, for that.

“Try to sleep, if you can,” he tells Skye.  “I’ll finish your homework for you, if you get too tired.”

“Professor Vaughn will recognize your handwriting, doofus,” she says.

“Forgery class,” Ward says.  “Spec ops, second semester.”

“You aced it?” Skye asks.

“I got a B+,” Ward says.  “But you only need to be so clever to fool Vaughn.”

“You’ve got a point,” Skye says.  “But for real.  Power down, robot.”

He falls back onto his bed and rolls onto his side.  Facing the wall.

“Roll over,” Skye asks.

“What?” he says.

“You always look so peaceful when you’re sleeping,” Skye says.  “It’s relaxing.”

He does as she asks.  He stares at her for a moment, half his face buried in his pillow.

“Night, Ward,” she tells him.

“Night,” he says, and shuts his eyes.

  
  


Skye’s small hand grasps his shoulder, to wake him, and he comes out of of sleep like he’s rising from the grave.  He grabs her wrist, tightly, too tightly, and she’s saying something.

“Ward?” she asks.  “Grant?  You okay?  Do you want to go back to sleep?

He must’ve been having a nightmare, but he can’t remember the details.  He takes that as a good thing.

“I um,” he says.  He lets go of her wrist.  “I’m fine.”  He runs his hand through his hair.  He’s sitting up, now, trying not to stare too long at the concerned face Skye’s giving him.  She’s turned off all the lights, but the moonlight’s glowing on her skin like it always does.

“Are you sure?” she says.

He’s falling into her eyes, dark save for the moonlight.  He’s falling, he’s falling.

“Just a bad dream,” he says.  “I promise.”

“You still want to go swimming?” she asks.  She’s touching his arm, again.  Softly.  “I’ll tell them you don’t want to, if you don’t.”

He takes a deep breath.  He pulls the covers back.  “I want to go swimming,” he says.  “I want to go swimming, with you.”

She breaks into a grin that lights up every part of him.  Her light touch turns into a hand holding his wrist, soft and warm.  “Come on, then,” she says.  “Let’s go.”

  
  


FitzSimmons are waiting for them by the pool doors, in their matching pajama sets.  Ward would point out that they don’t even room together, but quite honestly he’s not even sure if that’s true.

“So,” Skye says, in a half whisper.  “Am I picking the lock, or-”

“I can pick it,” Ward announces.  Skye elbows him in the ribs.

“Aren’t you supposed to be trained in the art of stealth, spec-ops?” she says.  “No loud noises.”

“Sorry,” he whispers back.  “But I am a pretty good lock pick.”

“I guarantee I’m better,” Skye says.  “I didn’t even have to take a class on it.”

Ward looks down at her.  “Neither did I,” he says.  She looks surprised.  Surprised, but…fond.

“You’ll have to tell me about that,” she says.

“Could you two stop flirting?” Fitz says.  “You’re going to miss it.”

Before Ward can protest that he was definitely not flirting, what even is flirting, there is no flirting going on here this is a zero flirtation zone, Skye says, “Miss what?”

“The SKELETON key,” Fitz says.  He’s holding what must be it, though it looks like a screwdriver.  Ward reaches for it, only for Fitz to snatch it back.  “No touching!” Fitz says.  “It’s only a prototype!”

“It’s very impressive,” Simmons adds.

“Aw, Simmons,” Fitz says.  “It’s not much, really, it’s just-”

“Are we going to go swimming?” Skye interrupts.  “Because I thought we were going to go swimming.”

Fitz mumbles something under his breath about unappreciated genius, but sure enough, his screwdriver-thing gets the door open with hardly any trouble.

“It shouldn’t make the lock smoke,” Fitz says.  “I’ll have to work on that.”

“What’s a minor fire here and there?” Simmons asks, and she genuinely means it.  “It works almost perfectly so far!”

“God, you guys are such nerds,” Skye teases.  Fitz and Simmons look at her, then each other, and muster up a tandem shrug.  “Come on,” Skye continues.  “I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

  
  


Ward tells himself that the blue glow of the pool does not make him uneasy.  He tells himself this multiple times, but he can’t help the dread creeping up his spine.  The water is right there.  Right in front of him.  He just has to jump in.  Skye puts her hand on his bicep.  

“Hey,” she says.  “You okay?”

“It’s so dark in here,” Ward says.

Skye strokes her hand along his arm.  It’s good for him.  It makes the dread go quiet.  It makes him breathe easier.

“I mean, that’s kind of the fun of it,” Skye says.  “The pool’s lit, so we don’t really need anything else.  Unless you want to turn the lights on?”

He can do this.  He is nineteen years old and he can do this.

“I’m good,” he says.  “If it’s part of the experience, then I’m good.”

She tugs on his arm.  He looks down on cue, into her worried eyes.  “We can stop right now,” she says.  “We can go back to bed.”

“I’m staying,” he tells her.  “I need to do this.”

“Okay,” she tells him.  “I trust your judgement.”

There’s a splash in the pool.  Another.  Ward looks down at his clothes.

“Crap,” he says.  “I forgot to grab a swimsuit.”

Skye hides her remaining worries under an electric grin.  “Who said anything about bathing suits?” she asks.  In one swift motion, she pulls her tank top over her head.

  
  


“Come on,” Skye says, unhooking her bra.  “You’re among friends.”

Don’t look at her boobs don’t look at her boobs don’t-oh, God, they look just like he’s always imagined.  She’s taking off her pants, her underwear, kicking them to the side.

“Take your time getting in, okay?” she asks.  She is naked.  She is completely naked.  Holy fuck.  Holy fuck.  He’d almost said no to this?  Had he been out of his mind?

“Now’s fine,” Ward says.  Taking off his shirt is no small effort, as it seems to have shrunk and where do his arms go and how does a neck work?  Skye’s hands are on top of his, helping him out of his horrible trap of a shirt.

“Easy there,” she says.  “Don’t want to ruin your shirt.”

He hears a rip.  He definitely just ripped his shirt.  Fuck it.  Go with it.  Skye is naked.  Look cool.  For once in your life, look cool.  “I have more,” he says.  She laughs.

“Good to know,” she tells him.  He discards his shirt.  Okay.  Pants.  She’s going to see your…well, your business.  You can do this.  You’re an adult.  You’re in spec-ops.  You’re cool, okay?!  You are cool and you can do this.  He hooks his thumbs under the elastic and pulls down his pajamas.

“You can keep your underwear on if you’re uncomfortable,” Skye says.  “This is a big night for you.”

  
  


Do it.  Do it.  You can do it, Grant Ward.  He slides his underwear down his legs.  Someone whistles in the pool.  He thinks it’s Fitz.  He turns to look at the water, again, and there’s  FitzSimmons, staring up at him, heads cocked to the side.

“Quite nice,” Simmons says.

“Very,” Fitz agrees.

“Let him be, guys,” Skye says.  “Also, get out of my way.”

They paddle back, and Skye jumps into the pool in one fluid motion.  He watches her hair fly back, her back arch, her toes touch the water and then she’s under.  He waits, for a moment, until her head breaks water.  She slicks her wet hair back and smiles at him.

“You’re already naked,” Skye says.  “You can do it.”

“Come on, Ward!” Simmons cheers.  “Get in the pool!”

He swallows.  He jumps.  He is aware that everyone is probably looking at his dick, and he’d be more self conscious if water wasn’t everywhere, all around him, breathe out, Ward, you can do this.  His feet touch the bottom of the pool and he springs up, up-he takes in air, gulps of it.  He’s in the water.  He’s in the water, and he can do this.  Open your eyes, Ward.  Open your eyes.

  
  


Skye stares at him, big brown eyes and wet skin and pink lips and a naked body in blue water.

“You did it,” she says.  She’s proud of him.  He’s proud of himself.

“I did,” he says, churning water, kicking his legs.  Easy.  It’s easy, to smile back at her, to gulp as she swims over.  He hears Simmons shriek, somewhere else in the water, then laugh, then Fitz shrieks.  But Skye.  He can’t take her eyes off of her.

“How do you feel?” she asks.  Her body is so close to his.  They’re naked.  At the same time.  Separated only by water and his self doubt.

“Good, I think,” he says.  “I’m…this is big, for me.”

Her arms wrap around his neck.  If he moved forward, his body would be pressed against hers.  Holy fuck.  Holy fuck.

“You’re brave,” Skye tells him.  He’s looking at her lips.  He can’t help it.  He moves closer.  Almost there.  “You’re amazing, actually.”

“You think so?” he asks.

She tilts her head up.  “I know so,” she says.  “Ward?” she asks.  And she presses herself flush against him, and the world around him fades.  He closes his eyes.  Her breath is on his lips.  You can do this.  You’ve come so far.  His lips brush against hers and-

  
  


Skye cries out in surprise as the lights come on.  Ward’s eyes snap open.  Oh fuck.  Oh, fuck.  There’s a janitor, there, with a mop bucket and a broom and a very shocked expression.

“You kids aren’t supposed to be in here,” the janitor says.

“Really?” Fitz says, still churning water.  “I had no idea.”

  
  


There’s so many things that Ward could be embarrassed about, right now.  First, the janitor didn’t even give them time to get their clothes, so now he’s sitting in Fury’s office in a towel.  Fury, who was obviously woken up just to discipline them, and is now staring at the four students in his office with some mix of misery and utter disdain.

“So,” Skye starts.  “Are you gonna discipline us, or-”

Fury holds up his hand.  “Ten seconds,” he says.  He sounds exhausted.

Fitz tilts his head.  “What happens in-”

“Five seconds,” Fury interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ward looks around the room.  “Five seconds until-”

“You have absolutely no right to bring her in here!” shouts none other than Agent Phil Coulson, slamming the door open with such force that the pictures on the wall shake.  “Is this to get back at me?  Is that what this is?”

Ward jumps out of his seat as a common curtesy.  “Sir,” Ward starts.  “This is entirely-”

“Your fault, I’m sure,” adds John Garrett, who smiles at Ward.  “Like anyone would buy that.  Sit down, kid.  It’s fine.”

Skye’s dad and Ward’s mentor are going to know they were skinny dipping together.  Maybe Garrett will stop Coulson from strangling Ward.  Hopefully.  John seems happy enough.

“I know you never wanted kids,” Phil continues, loudly, pointing an accusing finger at Fury, “but this is ridiculous.”

“They broke into the pool and were skinny dipping after hours,” Fury says.  He doesn’t sound very concerned.

“Oh, please,” Phil says.  “Remember what we used to get up to?  Skinny dipping is nothing, Nick, and you know that.”

Ward shoots John a quizzical look.  John winks back.

“Wait,” Ward whispers to Skye.  “Coulson and Fury. They’re a thing?”

“Oh my god,” Skye says.  She elbows him lightly in the ribs.  “You’re so oblivious.”

“-and maybe if the pool had more flexible hours, they wouldn’t need to break in!” Coulson continues.  “I mean, really!  Is it Skye’s fault that she wanted to go for a swim?”

Fury sighs.  “Technically-”

“Of course it isn’t, Nick!  This is just another example of this school failing her.  I heard that she twisted her ankle on the obstacle course, you know.  I thought this was SHIELD Academy.  I thought this school  _mattered,_ ” Phil gestures wildly with his arms.  John is biting down on his knuckles to keep from laughing out loud.  “But I guess she’s just a cog in the machine to you.  My protege, and this is how you treat her.”

  
  


“Get out of my office,” Fury groans.  “All of you.  Just, get out of my office and go to sleep.”

“Ridiculous,” Phil scoffs, under his breath.  He puts a reassuring hand on Skye’s shoulder.  “Come on,” he tells her.  “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“So that’s it?” Fitz asks.  “Simmons has been panicking for the past fifteen minutes, and you’re just letting us go?”

Fury levels his gaze at Fitz.  “It’s Leopold Fitz, right?”

“Fitz is fine,” Fitz says.

“Fitz,” Fury says, slowly.  “Do you want a punishment?”

“No sir!” Simmons interrupts.  “Oh no, we do not.”

“Then get out of my office,” he says.  “And stop lighting fires in the Sci-Ops building.”

“Oh, sir,” Simmons says.  “A little fire never-” Fury stares blankly at her until she gulps.  “Right.  Minimal fire damage, sir.  Goodnight.”

“Out,” Fury says.

  
  


John catches Ward halfway down the hall, as Ward nervously clutches at his towel and pads back to the dormitories.

“Kid,” Garrett says.  “Got a minute?”

“You’d start talking even if I didn’t,” Ward says.

“Oh shut up,” Garrett tells him.  “We need to have a chat, you and I.”

Ward sucks in a deep breath.  “Whatever it is,” Ward says.  “I can take it.”

Garrett knits his brow in concern.  He frowns.  “Ward,” Garrett says.  “Come on.  You’ve known me for a year, now.  I’m not going to punish you.”

Ward lets the tension out of his shoulders.  He hadn’t even noticed the stiffness, the set jaw, until that moment.

“It’s habit,” Ward says.

“I know,” John tells him.  He looks older, when he gets sad.  “And I know how you feel about water.”

“Skye invited me,” Ward says.  “I didn’t want to turn her down.”

“Skye’s your roommate, yeah?” Garrett asks.  “Is she the British one or the-”

“Dark haired one,” Ward says.

“You still haven’t introduced us,” Garrett says.  “It’s almost like you’re embarrassed of me.”

Ward lets himself snicker.  “Why on earth would you think that, sir?”

Garrett sticks his tongue against the skin of his cheek, a sort of not-smile that  he always gives when Ward gives him a hard time.  He chuckles to himself.  “Listen, shithead.  I’m trying to tell you that I’m proud of you.”

Ward balks without meaning to, prompting John to pull him into a half-hug.  “Sir?” Ward asks.

“You faced your fear,” John says.  They’re walking again, John with his arm slung over Ward’s shoulder.  “Multiple fears, if I’m thinking about it.”

“I just wanted to have fun with my friends,” Ward says.

“God, kid,” John says.  “I have waited so long to hear you say that.”

“Have you?” Ward asks.

“I figured having a girl roommate would throw you, but this,” John fondly shakes his head.  “This really is something else.”

“Skye’s amazing,” Ward says, without meaning to.  “She’s perfect.”

“Multiple fears,” John says.  “You did let her see you naked.”

“She started it,” Ward protests.  “She took off her clothes first.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” John adds.

Ward’s smiling now, and he barely registers it.  “I know, sir.”

“You should just go for it, Ward,” John says.  “You’re braver than you think you are.”

“But,” Ward says.  “I’m a-well, you know-”

“Humans have been having sex for thousands of years, Ward,” Garrett says.  “I promise, you will figure it out.”

“What if I’m not good enough?” Ward asks.  “What if I disappoint her?”

“It’s your first time,” John says.  “No one is expecting you to be perfect.”

“I just want to make her happy,” Ward says.  “She’s amazing.”

“You said that already,” John points out.  He clicks his tongue.  “Do you really not see how much she cares about you?  The way she looks at you?”

“How does she look at me?” Ward asks.

John gives Ward’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  “The same way you look at her, kid.”

“Really?” Ward asks, in a voice higher than it should be.

John laughs.  “Yeah, really,” John says.  “God.  Look at you.  Breaking rules.  Hooking up.  You remind me of myself at your age.  Except straight.”

Ward thinks he might be beaming.

  
  


Coulson is (thankfully) not in the room when Ward gets back.  The shower’s running, Skye’s singing, and Ward might’ve just had the best night of his life.

“Skye,” he calls.  “You good?”

Her singing stops.  “I’m good, roomie,” she yells back.  “Hold on!”  The shower turns off.  The bathroom door opens, letting out a stream of light and steam.  Skye’s wearing a different towel.  Her personal towel, not one of the white ones from the pool.

“Who was that, by the way?” Skye asks.  She looks like an angel, with steam around her shoulders.  “In Fury’s office.”

“Well, he’s my-” Ward starts.  How to describe John Garrett.   “I think he’s like to me what Coulson is to you.”

“Aw,” Skye says.  “That’s so sweet.”

“John Garrett is anything but,” Ward says.  He’s teasing.  Mostly.

“You’re not in trouble, are you?” she asks.

“Nope,” Ward says.  “John’s happy I’m getting out.”

Skye lightly pushes his side.  “Stick with me,” she says.  “And you’ll get out more often. He remembers what her body felt like against his.  Her skin.  Her breasts and the points of her-

“I should shower,” Ward says.  “I’ve got chlorine in my hair.”

“I’ll probably be asleep when you get out,” Skye tells him.  “I’m thinking of cutting History of SHIELD and sleeping in.  We could get mid morning coffee, if you wanted.”

He smiles.  “I would want that, yeah.”

She gets on the tips of her toes, like she’s going to whisper in his ear.  He leans down.  Her lips brush against his cheek.

“Goodnight, Grant,” she says.  “I’m glad you had fun.”

  
  


He doesn’t touch his cheek until he is safely in the bathroom, with the door locked behind him.  He leans against the wall.  Skye’s lips.  His cheek.  His lips.  And her body.  Her body and the pool and the sensation of two pieces fitting perfectly together.

He can do this.  He can.  For her.  For himself.


	13. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant ward loses his virginity.

It’s warm in November, and that gives him more hope than he’s used to having.  That, and whenever he looks at Skye he can distinctly remember that her boobs were pressed against him not three days, eight hours, and seventeen minutes ago.

“Skye,” he says, and he prays that for once he can just get this right.  “Do you want to go get coffee?”

She’s awake early today, another unusually good omen, texting on her bed with her legs up and her face pressed forward into her knees.

“Sure,” she says.  “Right now?”

He hadn’t thought of that.  Think of something.  Say something!  “Yes,” he decides.  “Right now.”

She slides off the bed with ease, and if she notices that Ward is just standing there, blinking and trying to remember how breathing works, she’s nice enough not to say anything.

“Gimme five minutes to get decent,” she says, turning on the tap in the bathroom.

“You look decent now!” he says.

She laughs.  “Thanks, roommie,” she says.

  
  


He changes tee shirts six times in five minutes, which is stupid given that his tee shirts only come in navy, black, and white.  He had a gray one, but Fitz lit it on fire last Tuesday.

“White,” Skye notes, pulling her hair into a ponytail.  “A good choice.”

“You think so?” he asks.

“You only own three colors of shirt,” she says.  She shrugs a brown sweater over her shoulders.  “I like white.  It looks good on you.”

“What?” he squeaks.  She tosses his windbreaker at him, and it hits him square in the face.

“Come on,” she says.  “I’m hungry and you promised coffee and muffins.”

“There’s going to be muffins?” he asks.

“I’m getting blueberry,” she decides, and they’re out the door.

  
  


The walk is ten minutes, and he uses the time to promise himself twenty times, at least, that he will get coffee, sit down, look her in the eye and say “Skye, I’m in love with you.”  In that exact order.  It’s foolproof.

Until he walks into the door of the coffee shop.  Which, who even put that there?  How long has it even been there for? 

“Watch it, big guy,” Skye says, pulling him back to examine his forehead.  “You good?”

He stares down at her.  Her fingers ghost along his forehead.

“I’m good,” he says.  “Sorry.  Stupid.”

“You’re fine,” she tells him.  “Not even a bump.”  Her fingers trace along his hairline, like she’s double-checking.  It feels nice.  Right.  He could tell her right now.  No.  No, he has a plan.  He has a plan for this.  Get the door.

“You still want a muffin?” he asks her.  Smooth.  Incredibly.  She withdraws her hand.

“Are you paying?” she asks.

He freezes.  Is he paying?  Is he supposed to pay?  Oh no.  Oh no.  She pushes him lightly.  In the chest.  Right over his heart.

“Relax,” she says.  “It’s on Coulson.”

  
  


Her drink takes longer than his.  So he prepares himself.  He might be mouthing the words out, because Skye sits down and looks at him like he’s lost his mind.  He’s been losing his mind all morning, actually, but that’s okay because Skye is here and she has her coffee and he just has to open his mouth and tell her and he smiles and-

“We should go back to our room,” she says, picking her coffee up off the table.

He frowns.  “Are you-I was going to-”

She’s standing up.  She’s standing up and this is not part of the plan.

“Wait, okay?” she tells him.  Wait for what?  “Let’s eat in our room.”

He has to rush to pull his jacket back on.  And he remembers not to walk into the door.

  
  


“Skye,” he starts, “I think maybe we should-”

“Come on,” Skye tells him.  She’s not looking at him.  That has to be a bad sign.  That and the way she drags him by the wrist, less fond and more urgent, like he’s messed up big time.  He has messed up big time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, under his breath.

She shakes her head.  The wind is picking up, whipping her hair into her face. “Let’s just get back to our room, okay?”  Faster winds.  It’s getting colder.

He looks up.  “Do you think it’s going to-”  It is going to rain.  Right now.  Right on their heads.

He wonders what higher power he angered, when he did it, and if he can fix it.

“Come on,” he tells her.  Now he’s dragging her, pulling her across the campus lawns and under trees in some effort to keep dry.  It’s not really working.  His hair’s slick against his forehead, shoes getting soaked on the wet grass and why is this campus so big?  Really?  Did they need this much space?  And why did it have to be November?  The rain is freezing, ruining any ideas Ward might’ve still had that this could be a good day.

“Ward,” Skye says, and tugs on his wrist.  “Ward, slow down!”

He digs his heels into the mud.  He’d been running.  He’d been dragging her along and she’s shaking.  Cold and damp with her hair slicked down and he’d been so focused on getting her inside, on fixing his stupid mistakes that he’d completely forgotten that she was in nothing but a sweater and a tank top.  Both of which are stuck to her completely, and she must be absolutely miserable.  He’s such an idiot.  Such an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.  “Hold on.”

He pulls her under an oak tree with a few leaves left, and hides her under his height and his bowed head.

“You’re shaking,” he says.  

She doesn’t deny it, not until he’s pulling off his windbreaker.  “Hey!” she says, grabbing his arm.  “You should stay dry.  I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay,” he tells her.  “Promise.”  He slides the jacket off and hands it to her, watches as she slings her skinny arms into the too-big sleeves and then zips up, all the way to her chin.  The sleeves hang lower than her hands reach, but she’s stopped shaking.

“There,” he says.  “Better?”  The rain is cold, soaking him through already.  She looks up at him with wet cheeks and glittering eyes.

“Grant,” she says.  “I know what you were going to say to me back there.”

A chill runs through him.  Not because of the rain.  “Oh.”

“You’re so stupid,” she says.  He’s about to apologize, for everything, for even daring to exist in the same space as her, when her hands cup his cheeks.  Well, her hands through the slick plastic of his windbreaker.  “I can’t kiss you over coffee.  You’d get too embarrassed.  I was at least hoping we could wait until we got back to our room, but-”

“Wait,” Ward says.  “Wait.  You’re not mad at me?”

She smiles at him, letting the rain roll down her cheeks.  “No, Grant.  I’m not mad.”  And she stands on the tips of her toes, sneakers digging into the mud, and pulls him down so that she can kiss him.  Her lips are against his, soft and damp.  Just like that.

  
  


He feels at once weightless and electric and  _alive_.  He wraps his arms around her, and his tee shirt is soaked and he’s soaked, too, but does it really matter?  Does anything besides this really matter at all?  He feels the scrape of Skye’s teeth and when he whines she digs her fingers into his cheeks, like she’s afraid he might slip away.  So he runs his hands along her back, to reassure her that absolutely nothing in the universe could pull him away from this moment.  From her.  He’s exactly where he belongs.

“Grant,” she whispers, pulling her head back just a hair.  “We should get inside.”

He looks at her lips, watches her form the his name with her tongue and he kisses her again, grabbing her hair, tugging, begging to stay here, forever.  “We don’t have to,” he whines, kissing at the corners of her lips. 

“We can keep going inside,” she says.  She’s pinned against the tree, pressed against him.  He kisses her neck.  He feels her sigh.  She likes that.  He does it again.  “Grant,” she says, softer now.  “Wouldn’t you rather do this in your own bed?”

Um, yes.  She feels him still and giggles against him.  He holds her tightly, still, blocking her from the rain, breathing in time with her and feeling her hands slide up under his shirt.  Her nails trace up and up and-

“Hey!” he yips, louder than he should.  He jumps back.  Okay.  Boy nipples are sensitive, apparently.  No one told him this.  And it’s not like he would’ve checked on his own!  But Skye is grinning at him, in his windbreaker that swallows her whole, and she grabs him by the hand and they’re running through the mud again, back to their room.

  
  


The door slams behind them and Ward’s windbreaker hits the floor and Skye’s are are on around his neck and she’s is kissing him with a ferocity that makes him weak in the knees.

“God,” she whispers.  “I thought you’d never come along.”  She smiles at him, with her still-dripping hair and her rain-slick skin, soft and warm and she even has water on her eyelashes, little drops reflecting the light from the window and she-

“Grant,” she says.  He’s Grant now, and it’s perfect.  “Say it.”

“What?” he asks.  She sways against him, hips aligned with his, fingers in his hair.

“What you were going to say to me, over coffee.”

He’s not sure he can.  But he’s come this far.  “Skye,” he says.

“Grant,” she repeats.  She can see he’s nervous.  She always can.  She’s teasing him.

“I’m in love with you,” he says.  “I’m really, really in love with you.”

She kisses him, hard, with tongue this time.  With.  Tongue.  He’s not even totally sure how to use his tongue back, but she’s barely using hers, just poking it between his lips, so he figures he should be gentle with it.  He doesn’t want to lick her face.  He’s not a dog.

She nips at his lower lip, for good measure.  Her hands are on the hem of his shirt, now, and his heart stops beating.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

She lifts her hands.  “I was going to take your clothes off,” Skye says.

Ward blinks.  “Why?”

Skye tilts her head.  “Because they’re soaking wet?” she says.  “And we can’t have sex if we’re in our clothes.”

  
  


Oh.  OH.  That.  Sex.  She wants to have sex.  This is it.  This is it.  Today, Grant Ward, you become a man.  Hopefully.

“You want to have sex with me?” he asks.

“Wow,” Skye says.  She takes a step back.  Like his doubt is actually, physically pushing her.  Come back, he wants to say, but he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to say. “Okay.  Ward. I don’t want to pressure you.  You know that, right?”  No, not Ward again.  Crap.  “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“I’m a virgin,” he tells her, so quickly and suddenly that he thinks it might’ve spilled out of him, like someone knocked over a glass.

“I know,” she says.

“You know?”

“Simmons told me,” she says.  “And I kind of figured.”

“Oh,” Ward says.

“Not like that,” Skye tells him.  “Not because of whatever self-loathing reasons you’re thinking of.  Only because you just seem so private.  I couldn’t imagine you opening up like that to someone.”

He wonders when she got inside his head, dug her heels in and refused to leave.  Left the marks of her soles on every surface of his subconscious.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he says.  “You can have any guy and I’m just-”

“You’re amazing,” Skye says.  Arms hanging at her side.  Fingers flexing.  “I don’t know what you tell yourself, Grant, but you are.”

“I’m boring,” he tells her.

“No,” she says.  “You’re not.”

“What if I suck at this?” he asks.  “What if I’m terrible?”

“It won’t be terrible,” Skye says.  “Because it’s you and me.  And I love you.  And that means more than anything else.”  

  
  


He hadn’t been expecting her to say it back.  He thought it would give it to her, for her to keep forever, and maybe she’d smile at him a little brighter sometimes.  But he never thought she could _love him_ love him.  Maybe like him.  Maybe be fond of him.  Maybe sometimes let him touch her boobs.  But.

“You love me?” he asks.  He steps forward.  Shoves down his doubt.  Way down.

Skye bridges the gap between them.  “Yeah.  I do,” she says.  She reaches for his shirt again, and he lets her.  She rolls it up, and it feels good, having his wet shirt peeled off his skin.  He lifts his arms and she has to stand on the tips of her toes,  just to reach up to his elbows.  He takes it from there.  The shirt lands on the floor in a wet thud.  He reaches for her sweater, clinging to the lines of her arms.  He pulls it over her shoulders, down her arms, until it is off and he is touching her tank top.  It’s sopping wet.  Stuck right to her bra, her stomach, the little indent of her belly button-

“Come on,” she teases.  “You’ve already seen me naked.” He has.  It was amazing.  Her shirt is so tiny.  He takes it off with both hands, up and over her bra and her arms.  Her bra is pink.  He’s seen her bras a thousand times hanging over the sink but now it’s real and in person and it’s holding her boobs.  She moves her hair up, turns around, so that he can look at the band around back and the clasp resting over her spine.

“Wanna go for gold?” she asks.  Oh God.  Don’t panic.  He didn’t take an entire semester of bomb diffusion just to freeze up when the most important moment of his young life arrived.

“Um,” he replies.  That’s all he can think of, really.  His fingers brush along the line of her spine.  She shudders, and on instinct he wraps his arms around her.

“Grant,” she says.  “I can help you, if you want.”

“Okay,” he whispers, and when his fingers touch the pink fabric of her bra clasp he feels sparks roll through his stomach.  Her hand comes around her back and nudges at his fingers.

“There,” she says, putting his fingers where they need to be.  “Unhook it.”

He tugs at it, maybe expecting for it to come undone like a bow or a knot but all that happens is that Skye laughs at him.  He furrows his eyebrows, pulls her a little closer so that he can investigate.  She said unhook it.  Meaning that it hooks, meaning that the top part has to be pulled _back_ before it’s pulled  _up._ The metal hooks click against the little eyes as Ward slowly unhooks it, with one hand on the under part and one hand carefully slipping out the over part.  And he’s done it, he’s unhooked a bra, he has taken the bra off of a real live girl, he has touched Skye’s bra and nothing in the whole world will ever beat this moment.

  
  


Then Skye turns back around, slips the straps down her shoulders and with a wicked grin she peels the cups off her breasts, tossing the pink thing to the ground with her tank top.   And he was wrong.  He was so wrong, because this has to be the best moment of his life, this exact instant where Skye’s boobs are right there, not in the dark of the pool, not hidden behind a towel, but there, right there, and she’s not hiding them from him or anything.

She grabs his hands and puts them over her breasts and it’s perfect, it’s the most perfect thing in the whole wide world, in the vastness of space and time, nothing will ever be as soft or as wonderful as Skye’s breasts.

“Wow,” he says, without meaning to.  She arches her back just enough to press herself more firmly against his hands.  He’s supposed to do something now, probably.  Maybe squeeze them?  Can he do that?  Try it.  Try it.  He does.  She lets out a pleased little noise, puts her hands over his.

“You can do what you want,” she says.  He kisses her, presses against her with a anxious need that eats at him from the inside out.  He picks her up and places her, gently, on his bed, and her jeans are still wet and so are his but she’s under him, kissing him, and he whines and whines because she is Skye and he has to remember between her flurry of kisses that she is topless and he has full permission to touch her.

  
  


He rests his head in between the crook of her shoulder and sighs.  She is warm and smells like coffee and flowers and everything right with the world.  Her hands are on his belt and he promises himself he’s not nervous, not even when his belt comes undone, then his top button, then his fly.  He traces his fingers along her sides.  She has scars over her ribs that he’s afraid to ask about.  She gets goosebumps when he strokes a line up from her belly button to in between her breasts.

She puts her hand down his pants and she barely touches him but the thought of it is enough to make him buck his hips.

She laughs, softly, grasp the back of his head and guides him to her breasts and-she wants him to kiss her boobs?  Is that it?  He places a kiss right above her areola, where her heart beats.

“You’re supposed to suck on them,” she tells him.  Oh.  Oh.  Okay.  He can do that.  He gives her nipple a flitting lick, first, to test her reaction, to make sure that she likes him and his tongue and her tongue on her.  She sighs.  He does it again, and she wiggles a little, presses her hand a little harder against the bulge in his boxer-briefs.

  
  


When he sucks on her, she grabs his dick through his underwear and he doesn’t mean to groan, but he does, and his mouth is still on her and she moans back and she’s rubbing him harder, now.  Okay.  Okay.  He grinds against her hand.

“What do you want?” she asks.  He’s still playing with her breasts.  He would answer, if he wasn’t rolling her nipple against his tongue.  So he whines, low in his throat, and shifts his hips.  She slips her fingers under the elastic.  “Is this what you want me to do?” she asks.  He nods.  He thrusts up, begging her as hard as he can.  Please, Skye.

  
  


When she wraps her hand around him, his world goes still.  He presses his face against her chest and shudders, groans, feels her fingers grab him and touch him and take him and God, it’s not like he’s never done this to himself but this is Skye’s hand and Skye is touching him and oh, God.

“Do you want to keep going?” Skye asks him.  She keeps pumping him, lightly, not gripping him with any sense of urgency but he still feels like her hand and her body and her voice are the only things in the universe.  “Grant.  Do you want to have sex?”

She grips him a little tighter.  Does he want to have sex?  He could do this forever, touch her and have her touch him back, soft and gentle and warm, he could keep his body pressed against hers and his lips moving in silent prayers against her skin. 

“God, yes,” he says, resting his chin up on her chest, gazing at her face and the curve of her lips.   “Please.”  His mouth is talking without his brain really thinking, speaking for his body because that’s all he knows.

  
  


She pulls away from him and he could cry.  He knows that she’ll be back but he needs her near him always, so that he can feel his skin against hers and kiss her lips and bask in her light.  But he knows where she keeps her condoms, and he knows she’s getting one and he should take his pants off.  He fumbles, kicking his legs as he pulls of his pants as fast as he can manage.  He’s pressing against his underwear, straining, waiting for her to come back and take him.  Oh God.  She’s going to take him.  She’s going to have her way with him.  He rubs himself through his boxers and one hand is in his sheets because Skye, Skye is going to fuck him into the bed.

“You took your pants off,” Skye says.  “Now I feel silly.”  She puts the condom wrapper by his pillow and takes off her pants and underwear in one go.  Ward can’t help himself; he wraps his arms around her waist, he presses his cheek against her lower stomach and his fingers search her skin of their own accord.  She breathes slowly, takes in the words he whispers into her skin, “Please,” and “I love you,” and “You’re beautiful.”

“Get on your back,” she tells him, rubbing the back of his head.  “Let me lead, okay?”  He nods his head against her.  She pulls him back by his shoulders, kisses his forehead, his cheek, his lips, and her lips have a slowness and a sweetness to them that he hadn’t felt before.  And just like that she pulls back and smiles softly at him, and with an inhale he finds his place on his back and she reaches for the condom now laying by his head.

  
  


He wants to help her, but he’s afraid he might mess up, and so he watches her pull his underwear down and place a kiss at the base of his-

He jerks his hips at the touch of her lips.

“You’re adorable,” she says.  She slides her hands up her legs, making him shudder.  She rips the wrapper and rolls the condom over him, and the return of her hand makes him groan with pleasure or anticipation or nerves.  He’s not really sure.

She straddles his stomach, and she’s pressed against him and she’s wet and he’s twitching, panting, anxious and eager.  She leans forward and puts his hands up by his head, laces her fingers through his and presses a kiss to his lips.  Her hips lift off his stomach and it’s coming, he knows it’s coming and-

  
  


She is the most perfect thing he has ever felt, has ever touched or been near or thought of.  She feels like safety and home and warmth.  She shifts her hips on him.

“Good?” she asks.

“Hnnh?” he says, arching his back, trying to press as deeply inside her as he can, trying to tell her he loves her and she’s perfect and he’s hers, always hers.  She guides his hands to her hips, pulling her fingers away, letting him grab her hips with frenzied desperation.  He holds her tightly and he can lift her up just enough to make her wiggle, and he thrusts into her again and again and oh, God-

“Grant,” she says, pushing down on his chest.  “I’ve got you, okay?” 

  
  


He lets out a breath.  He settles his hips back down on the bed, resisting the urge to arch his back and put fingerprints on her hips from gripping so tightly while he, he-

She’s rolling her hips on him.  She’s digging her fingers into his pecs, rocking herself slowly, letting out little moans.  She’s just getting started, he realizes.  He has no idea how he’s going to keep up.  She looks at him, beads of sweat starting to appear on her hairline.  She leans down, kisses his forehead.

“Relax,” she whispers.  “Just let me make you feel good.”

“Hng,” he says.  “You,” he manages, after a moment.  “You always make me feel good.”  She smiles at him, before wrapping her arms around him, pressing her breasts against him, sucking on his earlobe.  He shudders and moans and writhes in her embrace.  She is consuming him, every part of him, with her hips and her voice and her warmth.

  
  


“Grab my ass,” she tells him.  He does.  “Sit up.”  It takes a minute.  He holds her to him, sits up slowly, carefully, while she keeps her hold on him.  “Edge of the bed,” she tells him.  “You think you can move to the edge of the bed?”  He tries.  She has to slide off him and he could cry, but she guides him with patience and soft words and when he’s right where she wants to be, she hooks her legs around his waist and he’s home again.

“Good boy,” she tells him, when he starting meeting her thrusts.  He fucks her harder.  He needs to hear it again.

He sucks on her neck.  “Say it-” she twitches around him and he forgets how to speak, needs to remember, needs to- “Say it again, please?”

“What?” she asks.  Her lips are right by his ear, her voice is so sweet and he loves her so much.  “You’re a good boy, Grant,” she says.  “You feel so good.”

He whines and moans back, his nose and his lips leaving an impression in her skin.  He’s a good boy.  Just for her.  All for her.

He wants to stay like this forever but she’s so good, she’s so wonderful and he’s getting so close but he needs to please her he does.

“Grant,” she says, when she clenches against him and he loses his mind. “Do you want to come?”

He nods against her.

“Just wait for me,” she says.  “Let me get there.”  She lets loose.  She fucks him in a way that is selfish and wanting and she takes pleasure from him, in the way he begs her and the way he holds her tight.  

“Please,” he says, and he’s not sure how.  “Skye, please.”  What’s he begging for?  He’s not sure.  He has everything he ever wanted.

She doesn’t reply with her words.  She digs her teeth into his shoulder and shrieks and he realizes why and then he yells, with her, to her, for her.  She gave this to him.  She loves him she loves him she’s perfect.  God.  She’s perfect.

  
  


She nuzzles the side of his neck.  He has to remember how to speak, first, before he tells her that he loves her with all of his heart, so he just draws circles into her back with his fingertips until his speech comes back.

“You know I have to go home tomorrow morning,” she says.  “For break.”

He nods.

“I’m just-” she says, and she pulls off him slowly, standing up, swaying, running a hand through her hair while he stares up at her and studies the beauty marks on her hips and her arms and the scars on her skin.  “It’s so stupid because I’m going to be gone for like three days but I’m really going to miss you?”

Words.  He remembers words.

“How was I?” he asks.  Maybe not those words.  They just came out. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Great,” she says.  She ruffles his hair.  “And you know, practice makes perfect.  We’ve got all day and I have a whole box of condoms.”

“Skye?” he asks.  “What are we?”

Something flickers in her eyes.  It makes him antsy.  It makes him curious.  “We’re Skye and Grant,” she tells him.  “Grant and Skye.  We’re us.”

  
  


He smiles up at her.  “I love you,” he says.  And she smiles like she’s always known he has.


	14. Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after at last, grant and skye part ways for thanksgiving break. grant stays with john, befriends several animals, and watches a turkey catch fire. and that’s not even the half of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins the part of the Roommates AU that hasn't been posted to Ao3 yet! Enjoy!

“I’ll text you when I get to Boston, okay?” Skye says.  “Or if we stop for a pee break.  But Coulson wants bonding time so that means no phone for-” she starts to count on her fingers. “Ugh!  Seven hours.”

Ward is smiling at her, even as she whines and curses and throws a pair of headphones into her bag.  He hasn’t stopped smiling, really, though he misses the feeling of her body curled up next to his.  It’s just a weekend.  A long weekend, a four day weekend, but  he can live without her for a weekend.  Right?

“Seven hours,” he teases.  “Think you’ll make it?”

“Well if I don’t, then you’re back to being perpetually single so…” she trails off as she searches her top desk drawer.

“So I’m not single now, then,” Ward says.  “I’m taken.  By you.  I’m yours.”

Skye looks over her shoulder, with a newfound softness in her eyes that makes him feel like he’s flying.  “If you want to be.”

“More than anything,” he says.  And he says this leaning out of bed, to show her how much he means it, which of course means that he loses his balance and slips.

It’s not the first time he’s fallen out of bed.  But it’s the first time that Skye is at his side almost immediately, hand on his arm, breathing on his neck and making him feel flushed and hot.  

“Try not to do that when I’m not here to get a vine,” she says.

He laughs.  For real.  “That’s mean,” he tells her.

She kisses his temple.  “I’m mean,” she says.

“No, you’re not,” he says.  “You’re kind and loving and perfect.”

Skye beams.  “Go on,” she teases, giving him a light shove.

If she’s being sarcastic, he doesn’t pick up on it.  “You’re so beautiful.  Your hair smells like coconut and I’m so in love with-”

She kisses him, hard.  He puts his hands in her hair and kisses her back until he is breathless.

She pulls away, wet-lipped and guilty-eyed, and ruffles his hair.  “Try not to spend this whole weekend alone, okay?”

“No one’s here,” he says.

“John is,” Skye says.  “Call him.”

“He doesn’t need me bothering him,” Ward says. 

Skye sighs.  With her soft, little hands, she cups his cheeks.  “Grant Ward,” she says.  “You are not a bother.  You are amazing.  And you should call John.”  She gives him another quick peck, and he whines when she stands up.  “I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

“I love you,” he says, rising to his feet.  He hugs her, tighter than he should, because it’s just four days but it’s probably going to feel like forever.  “I’ll miss you.”

“I love you too,” she says, nuzzling his neck.  “I’ll text you as soon as I can.”  

  
  


She’s out the door, and Ward at once feels terribly alone.  He finds that sitting on his bed and hugging his knees doesn’t help.  He takes a shower, and then he thinks about the pool, and he thinks about what Skye tastes like, and he’s even lonelier than when he started his stupid shower to begin with.

He’s got a text message when he gets out of the shower, but not from Skye.  Fitz has finally responded to Ward’s “I LOST MY VIRGINITY” text, from last night when Skye was asleep and Ward had to tell  _someone._   It’s a picture: Fitz and Simmons giving Ward a thumbs up from what has to be the NASA launch site.  Like the space shuttle behind them is a representation of Ward’s-

Well.  That’s just rude.

Ruder than FitzSimmons spending all of Thanksgiving break at NASA instead of in the dorms, even.

Really, NASA is in way over their heads with those two.  They should’ve just stayed in DC with Ward.

He sighs.  The worst thing about having friends, he realizes, is missing them.  Before, before Skye and her lips and her body and FitzSimmons poking him with wires, before all of that, loneliness was just a kind of perpetual state for him, but now that he’d had a taste of it, social contact and friendships and  _sex,_ the lack of it was harder to deal with.

He’s ruined.

He really should call John.

But.  He doesn’t want to be a bother.  John’s probably already got plans.  He’s a busy guy.  What does he need Ward calling him for?

Ward shuts his eyes.  He takes a deep breath.  He’s mouthing words.  A whisper.  “I am not a bother,” he says.  “I am amazing.”  His fingers run over his phone.  It’s just a phone call.  The worst that could happen is, well-John could just not pick up.

John probably won’t even pick up, and Ward won’t have bothered him at all.  It’s just a phone call.

  
  


John picks up on the second ring.  “Hey, kiddo,” John says.  He sounds sleepy.  “You’re up early.”

“I’m sorry,” Ward blurts.  “I didn’t-Skye had to leave early with Coulson and I’m up and-I’ll just hang up now.”

“Hey-” John says, quickly, to keep Ward from disconnecting.  “Hey.  It’s fine.  I’m glad you called.”

“You are?” Ward asks.

“‘Course I am,” John says.  “I’m always happy to hear from you.”

Now Ward feels guilty for not calling more often.  He doubts this is the effect John desires, so he swallows it back down.  “Oh.”

“So what’s up?” John asks.

“I, um-” Ward says.  “I don’t have any plans for break.”

On the other line, John lets out a snort of laughter.  “Why didn’t you say so the last time I saw you?” he says.  “You can stay with me.  I have a whole Thanksgiving tradition.”

“Oh I don’t want to intrude-”

“Grant,” John says.  “I want you to stay with me for Thanksgiving.”

“I’ve never even been to your house,” Ward says.  He doesn’t know why he feels the need to point out the obvious, he does it all the time and it never helps and it’s not helping him now, and yet here he is.

“I have a spare bedroom,” John says.  “And Buddy will be thrilled to meet you.”

“Buddy?” Ward asks.

“My dog,” John says.  “Didn’t I tell you I had a dog?”

Ward sucks in a breath.  “You never mentioned it,” Ward says.  And he would’ve remembered if John had a dog, because Ward knows dogs and he knows who has dogs and who doesn’t and he definitely did not know that John had a dog.

“Well Buddy loves company,” John says.  “And I really should put that spare room to use.”

“If you really want to,” Ward says.  It’s certainly better than being alone.  And there’s a dog involved.

“When do you want me to come get you?” John asks.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Ward says.

“Tell you what,” John says, “I’m going back to bed for another two hours.  So I’ll come get you in two and a half.  We’ll go get burgers.”

“Is Buddy coming to lunch?” Ward asks.  “Does he like hamburgers?  I’ll share a hamburger with Buddy, if he wants, since I shouldn’t eat a whole burger anyway.”

John’s laughing.  “I’ll bring the dog,” John says.  “See you soon, kid.”

It’s just that simple, it seems.

Ward really wishes Skye were still here.

  
  
  
  


John shows up on campus two hours and forty-five minutes later, in a blue jeep with a chocolate lab in the passenger seat.  Ward doesn’t mind the lateness.  He’s only been waiting outside for fifteen minutes, and it’s breezy out, and if he squints he can see the patch of trees across campus where Skye kissed him.

And then he’s being pounced on by Buddy, which knocks him onto his ass, and John is saying “Buddy, no!” over the both of them.

“It’s okay,” Ward says, as Buddy licks the side of his face.  “I don’t mind.”  Buddy licks Ward’s nose, too, for good measure.  Ward takes this to mean he can start scratching behind Buddy’s ears.  Buddy wags in response.

“I thought I’d do the gentlemanly thing and get your bag for you,” John says.  “Buddy beat me to it.”

“Hi Buddy!” Ward says, still petting.  “Hi friend!”

“Kid,” John says.  “Where’s your bag?”

“I’m wearing it,” Ward says.  He gestures to his backpack, but keeps one hand on Buddy’s head.

“That’s it?” John says.

“They taught us to pack light,” Ward says.  “So I have a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”

John pulls his lips into a line.  ‘They’ could mean any combination of people, and John is only fond of a few of them.  “There isn’t anything else you wanted?”

Ward shakes his head.

John seems like he’s going to protest, but he resigns himself to a small twitch in his jaw and a slight shake of the head.  “Come on then, kid.”

  
  
  
  


Ward actually makes it five minutes into the car ride, practically buzzing in the passenger seat, before John asks, “So, anything new with Skye?”

Ward smiles to himself.  “She kissed me,” Ward says.  Buddy nuzzles his shoulder in approval.  Or maybe he just wants more pets, but it feels like approval to Ward.

John lets out a low whistle.  His grin is bright, the brightest Ward’s ever seen it.  “Look at you,” John says.  “I’m proud of you.”

“I had a whole plan,” Ward continues.  “I was going to take her out for coffee and tell her I loved her but then she didn’t want to do it in the coffee shop so we went back to the dorms but then it started raining and she kissed me and then-”

“Then what?” John asks.

“We had sex,” Ward says.

John slams on the brake and Buddy barks at him for it.

“John?” Ward asks.  “Did I do something wrong?”

A car honks at them several times, clearly pissed that John’s stopped in the middle of the road.

“Hey, fuck off!” John yells out the window.  “My boy’s just lost his virginity!”

Buddy howls as the honking continues.

“Fuck you!” John yells.  “I’m trying to bond with the boy here!”

Finally, mercifully, the car goes around them.  Ward feels himself shrink back in his seat, in case the driver tries to get a look at the boy who just lost his virginity.  Buddy barks angrily, as if to say ‘yeah, you better drive away.’

  
  


They sit in silence for a minute more.  Then, John says, “Well, we have to do something to celebrate.”

“We don’t have to do that,” Ward says.  “It’s not worth going out of the way-”

“Stop,” John tells him.  “Kid, this is big.  Not just the sex but-the coming out of your shell.  Finding people.  Finding friends.  We should celebrate you.”

“I haven’t even done anything,” Ward mumbles.

“You put yourself out there,” John says.  “And that’s pretty damn big.”

Buddy nudges Ward with his nose, to show that he agrees.

“Well,” Ward says, rubbing Buddy’s ear.  “If you really think we should.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m twisting your arm,” John says.  “Crap.  What’s open on Thanksgiving?”

Ward thinks this over.  “I’m not sure, actually.”

“Okay.  Well,” John says.  “We have to be at Vic and Mel’s by four thirty-ish, but if we eat now we’d still be hungry for dinner, right?”

“Vic and Mel?” Ward asks.

John snickers.  “Victoria Hand and Melinda May.”

Ward’s eyes go wide.  “Melinda May?” he says.  “The Melinda May?”

“Is there a different Melinda May?” John asks.

“I’m going to Melinda May’s house?” he asks.  “Should I have brought nicer clothes?”

“For Vic’s place?” John scoffs.  “Fuck ‘em.  You think McDonald’s is open?”

Ward wrinkles his nose.  “Probably,” he says.  “But I don’t really like fast food.”

“We’ll just get shakes, then,” John says.  “Okay?  Celebration shakes.”

“I haven’t had a milkshake in a long time,” Ward says.

“You’re nineteen,” John points out.  He pauses for a moment, and he gives Ward this entirely fond look that makes Ward feel self aware and kind of out-of-place.  John musses Ward’s hair.  Then Buddy’s fur.  And then he throws the car back into drive and peals down the road.

  
  


He gets a text from Skye at the exact moment John parks the car at McDonalds.

**SKYE: OH MY GOD I HAVE HEARD THREE CAPTAIN AMERICA STORIES SO FAR HOW DOES HE HAVE SO MANY**

Ward smiles so broadly and stupidly that John lets out a laugh and gives his shoulder a shove.

“You’re sickening, kiddo,” John says.

Ward almost frowns.  Almost.  But.  Skye’s said similar things to him.  Enough times that he thinks he gets it.  It’s a joke.  It’s just a joke.  He feels the grin creep back.  Putting himself out there.  Opening up.  Making friends.

“I love her,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.  “She’s perfect.”

“First loves always are,” John says.  He gets out of the car and Buddy follows.  

“Do you keep in touch with yours?” Ward asks.  Buddy trots at his side.  “Your first love, I mean.  Do you talk to him?”

John smiles, too, but it’s sad, so sad that even Ward can tell.  “I would if I could, kid,” he says.  “But this isn’t about me, anyway.”  And the sadness is gone, swallowed whole, and John’s smile is happy again.  “Come on.  Do you want chocolate or vanilla?”

Ward almost wants to press further, but John is so happy again and Buddy is happy and Ward is going to have McDonalds for the first time in forever-so against his pressing curiosity, he smiles.  “This might sound crazy,” Ward says.  “But Skye brought a McFlurry in at like, one am once and it looked really good and I really want to try one?”

John snickers.  “Why would that be crazy?”

“I’m not used to food cravings,” Ward says.

“Maybe it’s just because Skye was eating it?” John says.

Ward remembers it fondly.  Maybe too fondly.  Maybe it’s because she got it on her dress and there was ice cream on her skin, white and sweet and melting and-

“Um, yeah.  That could be it,” Ward says.  His phone buzzes.

  
  


**Skye: Hey are you alive I’m going to die of a Captain America OD**

**Grant: Just pulled up to McDonalds with John.**

**Skye: Omg Grant Ward at a real McDonalds?**

**Grant: It’s the only thing open and John wants to celebrate**

**Skye: Celebrate what?**

**Skye: Grant?**

Ward looks up to John, who’s staring at him with bemused interest. “It’s important,” Ward says.  “I promise.”

John lets out a chuckle.  “Sure, kiddo,” he says.  He opens the door to the McDonalds.  Ward walks in, Buddy follows.

“Sir!” someone behind the counter calls.  “There are no dogs allowed-”

John’s already waving his badge around.  “Government dog,” John says.  “He stays.”

Buddy lifts his nose.  He looks so proud of himself. Or he could just smell something interesting.

“Go sit down,” John says.  “You want Reeses or M&Ms?”

“Um,” Ward says, because he’s never even had a McFlurry, and what if he makes the wrong choice?  “M&M, I guess.”

Buzz.

**Skye: Omg where are you?**

**Grant: I told him we had sex**

**Grant: Don’t hate me**

**Skye: Why would I hate you?**

**Grant: I dunno**

**Skye: I’ll never hate you.  Promise :)**

**Grant: :)**

**Skye: So are you getting a big mac?**

**Grant: Ew no never**

**Skye: :p**

**Grant: I’m getting a McFlurry**

**Skye: Specific**

**Grant: It looked good when you had it!**

**Skye: Wasn’t I white girl wasted at the time?**

**Grant: You got it all down your dress**

**Skye: Omg perv**

**Grant: Not like that!!!!!**

Okay, yes like that.  It had gotten all over her cleavage.  And he’d tried not to stare, he had, but she kept brushing it off and licking it off her hands and Ward remembers whining very, very loudly at one point.  She hadn’t noticed.

**Skye: W/e I’m hot**

**Grant: Really really hot**

**Skye: Aw babe <3**

**Grant: <3 <3 <3**

**Skye: Wow we’re gross**

**Skye: Coulson says it’s time to hit the road again text you if I make it**

**Grant: I love you!!!!!!!!!**

**Skye: Ilu2**

  
  
  
  


He’s not preening about the fact that Skye called him “babe.”  He’s only puffed his chest out because he wants to.  He grins at Buddy, who rests his head on Ward’s lap.

“You’ll like Skye,” Ward tells him.  “She’s the best.”  He scratches Buddy’s head.   Buddy tilts his head back so that he can lick Ward’s hand.  “Aw, Buddy,” he says.

“That dog’s a traitor,” John declares, sliding in across from Ward and handing him his ice cream.  “I’m the one who feeds him,” John continues.  “But you show up and suddenly-” he gestures towards the two of them.  Ward nervously glances down at Buddy, then back to John.  Is John actually jealous?  Has Ward done something wrong?

John’s grinning.  “Relax,” John says.  “I’m glad he likes you.  Not that I ever doubted it.”

Ward feels relief break against his lungs, which had been holding a tight breath.  He’d been doing so well!  He’d caught the joke before.  “I like Buddy a lot,” Ward says, instead of one of the five or so more self-deprecating things floating through his head.  If Skye calls him ‘babe,’ he must be doing something right.

He lets a small smile flit across his lips.  Until he looks down.  “Oh,” he says.  “That’s a lot of ice cream.”

He doesn’t notice the frown John makes.  “You don’t have to eat all of it,” John says.  “It is McDonalds, after all.  The portions are big.”

“I, um-” Ward says.  When’s the last time he even had ice cream?  Buddy’s looking at him, and if Ward didn’t know better, he’d say that Buddy looks expectant.  Like he’ll be sad if Ward doesn’t have just a little ice cream.  Ward picks up the spoon and Buddy wags his tail.  Well, he has to have some of it, then.  For Buddy.

The first spoonful makes his teeth ache, and when he tries to chew it the M&Ms crack against his teeth but it’s good.  It’s really, really good.  He would lick this off Skye in a heartbeat, if she got it all over herself again.

Maybe he could ask her to?  Or would that be taking things too far?  What if she thought he was weird?

“Kid,” John says, noting that Ward is staring off to space and eating his ice cream a little too fast.  “You’re going to get a-”

Pain pain pain oh god, the pain, burning in his head and why ice cream, why would you do this?  Buddy whines as Ward presses his hands to his temples.

“Tongue on the roof of your mouth,” John says.

Ward presses his tongue as flat as he can get it against the roof of his mouth.  “Lie thh?” he asks.

John is trying not to laugh.  And that makes Ward want to laugh, but his head is throbbing, throbbing, cooling down.  Now he just feels warm.  Buddy pokes his nose against Ward’s side, to check if Ward’s okay.

“I’m good,” he says, stroking Buddy’s head.  “I’m good.”

“When’s the last time you had ice cream?” John asks.

Ward thinks about it.  He stares down at his traitorous ice cream.  “A while.”

“You spaced out,” John says.  “Everything okay?”

“I was, uh-” Ward stirs his spoon, watches the M&M colors stain the ice cream.  “I was thinking about Skye.”

John seems to relax, and Buddy licks at Ward’s hand.

“Can I give Buddy the rest of my ice cream?” Ward asks.

John shakes his head.  Buddy whines.  “The chocolate in it will make him sick,” John says.  He gives the dog a sympathetic look.  “Sorry, Bud.”

“Can’t we at least buy him some fries?” Ward asks.  “He’s such a good boy.”  Now his attention is back on Buddy, as Ward leans over and cups Buddy’s head in his hands.  “Yes you are.  You are the best boy.”

Buddy barks in agreement.

John smirks.  “A small fries, for Buddy,” John says.  “You want anything else, kiddo?”

“Nah,” Ward says.  “I’m going to try and work on this ice cream.”

John pats his shoulder as he gets up.  “No pressure, Ward.”

“It’s good,” Ward says.  He smiles.  “And it’s a holiday.  I think I could have a little more ice cream.”

The way John smiles at him makes Ward want to finish the whole thing.  But he’ll pace himself.  Like John said.  No pressure.  Buddy stares up at Ward.

“Soon,” Ward tells him.  “You’ll get a whole thing of fries!”

Buddy approves by chewing on Ward’s shirt.  

  
  


They get back into the Jeep fifteen minutes later, after Buddy’s wolfed down his fries, and Ward’s got a bit of vanilla ice cream on his cheek that Buddy licks off as soon as he bounds onto Ward’s lap.

“So,” John says.  “Are you feeling celebrated?”

Ward holds Buddy in a hug.  “Um…yes?”

John can only shake his head.  “I’ll have Tori sing her ‘congrats on losing your virginity, you big-” he stops.  “It might not apply to this situation, actually.”

“I’m fine, John,” Ward says.  “You’ve already shown me more than enough appreciation.”

“No such thing!” John says.  “Rule number one of self esteem.”

“There are rules?” Ward asks.  “Should I be writing them down?”

“God,” John says.  “I should’ve done this with you last year.”

“I didn’t have sex last year,” Ward points out.

“Doesn’t matter,” John says.  “It’s not about the sex.  It’s about you.”

“I’m fine, John,” Ward says.  He idly rubs Buddy’s chest.  “Really.”

John tries to smile, and it almost works.  “Okay, kiddo,” he says.  “You mind if I turn on my music?”

“Nope,” Ward says.

“Hope you like Madonna,” John says.  He’s the same as Skye, sometimes.  Always pushing the sadness down, like Ward won’t be able to tell.  And right now, Ward isn’t really sure how it makes him feel.

_Come on girls!_ the stereo says.   _Do you believe in love?_

Buddy starts to howl along.

  
  


Ward shouldn’t be surprised by John’s house.  It’s kind of old, not too big, and it’s in a fairly suburban area: perfectly average.  Maybe that’s the weird thing about it.

“You live here?” Ward asks.

John chuckles, as Buddy follows him along the walkway.  “No, kid.  We’re going to break into a stranger’s house and live in it for the break.”

Ward drops his voice to a whisper.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he says.  “I would’ve brought-” Oh, John is turning the key in the lock.  “You were joking.”

“I was,” John says.  “Why?  Something wrong with my house?”

John takes off his shoes as he enters the house, and Ward follows suit.  Buddy picks up Ward’s right sneaker and begins to trot off with it.

“Buddy!” John calls.  “Put it back.”

“It’s fine,” Ward says.  “He can have it.”

“Do you have other shoes?” John asks.

“No,” Ward replies.

“Then he can’t have it,” John says.  “Put it back, Buddy.”

Buddy puts the shoe down and whines, tail between his legs.

“Oh no,” Ward says, dropping to his knees.  He hugs Buddy to his chest.  “It’s okay, Bud.”

“Oh, please,” John says.  “He’s a drama queen.  And he is milking you for all you’re worth.”

Buddy barks in protest, which makes John roll his eyes.

“You want to see your room?” John asks. 

Ward rises back to his feet.  His hands stay by Buddy.  “It’s your room, technically,” Ward says.  “You’re just letting me use it.”

John waves it off.  “Semantics,” he says.  “It’s your room for now.”

“Oh,” Ward replies, and he’s not really sure if there’s a better response.  “Thank you.”  He feels at once terribly greedy and intruding.  “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” John says.  “Come on.”

  
  
  
  


The deeper they go into the house the more Ward starts to like it.  It smells like firewood and bread and something else.  It’s unfamiliar but nice.  All of it.  The pictures on the walls and the worn-in furniture and the stairs that creak. 

“One guest room,” John announces, pushing open the door to a mint green room with white blankets.  “It’s a bit too clean, so don’t worry about messing it up.”  Buddy takes this as his cue to jump onto the bed.

“I would never make a mess,” Ward says.  “Especially not in your house.”

“Well then,” John says.  “That makes one of us.”  He smiles at Ward, at Buddy, at the room.  “Looks like Buddy is going to be rooming with you.”  Buddy thumps his tail against the bed.

And Ward.  Just kind of stands there.  And stares. 

“Is something wrong?” John asks.  “Is the color hurting your eyes?  Tori said that mint green was offense but I told her she could sho-”

“It’s perfect,” Ward says.  “But- Aren’t Agents supposed to live in like, safehouses?  Constantly going from place to place?”

“Is that what they’re teaching you at the Academy?” John says.  “That you have to live like a nomad?”

“Well,” Ward says.  “Not really.  I just assumed.”

John shakes his head.  “Safehouses are temporary.  Most of us have permanent places near the Triskellion.  And trust me, I lived in my fair share of shitty DC apartments before I gave up and went suburban.”

“Isn’t that dangerous, though?” Ward says.  “Living in one definite place?  Can’t people find you?”

“Well you don’t use your real name,” John says.  “And the folks around here think I’m just a traveling businessman.”

“So what does that make me?” Ward asks.

John reaches out to ruffle Ward’s hair.  It feels pretty nice, actually.  “My nephew.”

“That works,” Ward says.

“We’ve got head over to Vic’s at four,” John tells him.  “You ever had deep-fried turkey?”

That sounds horrifying, but Ward hopes he manages to at least look slightly curious.  “I haven’t.”

“Neither have I,” John says.  “But this is gonna be the year we finally do it.  I can feel it.”

“Why’s that?” Ward asks.

John clasps him on the shoulder.  “Cause you’re here,” John says.  “And we can’t disappoint you, now can we?”

“You really can,” Ward says.  “I won’t mind.”  He really doesn’t want to eat a deep-fried turkey.  He cannot stress this enough.

“Take a load off, kiddo,” John says.  “You can go play fetch with Buddy in the yard, if you want.”

Ward’s grinning.  “Do you want that, Buddy?” he asks.  “Do you want to play fetch?”

Buddy bounds off the bed, expecting Ward to follow.

  
  
  
  


He brushes his hand against his phone in his front pocket as Buddy chases after the tennis ball.  Like maybe it buzzed when he wasn’t paying attention.  But every time he checks the screen, it just shows him the time.

He sighs.  She’s probably stuck in traffic.

Buddy trots back with the ball proudly clutched between his teeth, before dropping it at Ward’s feet.

“Do you think I should text her?” he asks Buddy.  “Would she get annoyed?”

Buddy barks.  Ward pulls his phone out of his pocket, to double-check his texts.  Still nothing new.  Buddy barks again, then nudges the ball towards Ward with his nose.

“I mean, maybe it would show that I care?” Ward asks.  He scoops up the ball and throws it back across the lawn.  “Do you think it’s a good idea?!” he yells after Buddy.  He should text her.  No, he shouldn’t.  That would be clingy.  And she’s busy!  He’s unlocking his phone.  Stop it, Grant.  Stop it, you’re going to look pathetic!

**Grant: I miss you a lot.**

Well.  There goes that.  And he’s still typing.

**Grant: I know you can’t text right now**

**Grant: I feel weird?**

**Grant: I didn’t even know you three months ago and just thinking about that makes me**

**Grant: It makes me really unhappy**

**Grant: I don’t want there to be any parts of my life that don’t have you in them**

**Grant: I really hope you don’t think I’m crazy**

Buddy drops the ball right on top of Ward’s foot and barks expectantly.

“Have you ever been in love, Buddy?” he asks.  He decides now would be as good a time as any to sit down on the grass.  And then, deciding that’s not good enough, he lies back and stares at the sky.  He feels Buddy lay down beside him and place his head on Ward’s stomach.

“I don’t ever want to not be in love again, Buddy,” he says.  “If that makes any sense.”

Buddy licks his hand.  Ward shuts his eyes without thinking about it.  It’s not very cold out, especially not for this time of year.  He likes the sound of the wind and the feel of Buddy’s fur under his hand.  He likes the smell of grass and the feeling of peace that is entirely unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome.

He drifts off into an almost sleep. 

He thinks of the feeling of Skye’s head on his chest, of the kisses she placed on his neck.  He could be with her forever, he thinks.  Maybe.  Did he deserve forever?

His phone buzzes in his pocket.  He jolts, shoulders twitching, eyes flying open.  The sky’s changed.  It’s darker now, with clouds.  Colder.  Buddy’s staring at him.

“Sorry Buddy,” Ward says, scratching behind Buddy’s ear.  “Did I wake you?”  They must’ve fallen asleep together out here.  Ward reaches for his phone.  He’s been out for a little more than an hour.  And Skye’s texted him!  Oh, God.  He hopes he didn’t scare her.

**Skye: Trust me out of the two of us you’re not the crazy one**

**Skye: I don’t even think you want to know what my life was like three months ago**

**Skye: I love you**

**Skye: I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it**

**Skye: And I’ve never said it to anyone else**

**Skye: So how’s that for weird?**

  
  


It hurts in a sort of unfamiliar place, the idea of Skye’s pain.  It’s sharper than his own, fresher.  He’s used to his own misery.  He used to be used to it.  But Skye.  Her scars and her dark eyes and her secrets that he still didn’t have answers to.  A fragility he’s only just starting to see.  It made him anxious.

**Grant: What was your life like three months ago?**

**Skye: In a word: miserable**

**Grant: Miserable how?**

**Skye: I’ll tell you some other time**

**Skye: I’d rather not discuss it over text**

**Grant: I’ll make sure you’re never miserable again**

**Skye: I wouldn’t ask you to do that.**

**Grant: You don’t have to**

He swallows.  Is this too overbearing?  Is it too early to be swearing solemn oaths?

“Buddy,” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows.  “Am I being weird about this?”

Buddy seems to interpret Ward saying his name as a sign that fetch can resume.  With a happy bark, he gets up and trots to go get his ball.

**Skye: Can we talk about something else?**

**Skye: I don’t want to stress you out.**

**Grant: You aren’t!!!!**

**Skye: Grant.**

**Grant: It’s not your fault it’s mine**

**Skye: Grant. Come on**

**Grant: Fine**

**Skye: Tell me something funny**

**Grant: John wants to deep fry a turkey**

Buddy’s coming back with the ball, and Ward should stand up.  He brushes off the grass that’s on the front of his jeans.  His back is probably dusted with dirt on the back of his shirt, and he kind of regrets bringing only one change of clothes.  

**Skye: That sounds AWESOME**

**Grant: It sounds horrifying**

**Skye: Coulson’s grandma is just making boring oven turkey**

**Skye: Well, Coulson’s uncle is**

**Skye: His grandma is really old**

**Skye: I’m staring at her now I think she might be dead**

**Grant: Wait seriously?**

**Skye: False alarm, I heard her snore**

It’s light and silly and it makes him happy, though he can’t seem to quiet the nagging urge to ask again about her misery.  And that’s especially strange to him, given that he’s spent nineteen years of his life not talking about his problems or anyone’s problems, really.  But it’s different with Skye.  If he finds out what makes her sad, he can chase it away until it makes her not-sad.  It’s not complicated, really.

**Grant: So Coulson’s family is alright?**

**Skye: They’re pretty nice**

**Skye: Everyone keeps asking where Nick is**

**Skye: #awkward**

**Grant: Nice is good!**

**Grant: John says we’re having dinner with Victoria Hand**

**Grant: And!!!!!**

**Grant: Melinda May!!!!!!!**

He doesn’t have a good enough change of clothes, he realizes.  And the idea of meeting Melinda May with dirt on his clothes is just-It won’t do.  He really, really should’ve brought more than one change of clothes.  And he probably shouldn’t have fallen asleep outside.

**Skye: I’ve met them**

**Skye: Victoria is kind of nuts**

**Skye: Melinda is cool**

**Skye: If I’d known you were a fan I would’ve asked her to sign a headshot or something**

**Grant: Please don’t ever do that**

**Skye: :p**

  
  


The screen door slides behind him.  Ward resists the urge to jump, though he feels it shoot through his spine, down his legs.  It’s just John.  It’s just John.

“I thought about bringing you inside,” John says.  “But it’s not too cold and you looked content enough.”

“It was nice,” Ward says.  “Relaxing.  But-” He spreads his arms, to show John the bits of grass on the sides of his shirt.  “My clothes are dirty now,” Ward says.  “And I’ve only got one other set and I guess I can wear my other clothes and wash these tonight and-”

“Ward,” John says.  “It’s really not a problem.”

“I just want to make a good impression,” Ward mumbles.

“I really think you’re overestimating the importance of Victoria Hand and Melinda May,” John says.  Ward doesn’t seem to be convinced.  John picks a stray blade of grass off of Ward’s shoulder.  “You can borrow one of my shirts,” John says.  “Wear your clean jeans to dinner, and we’ll wash these clothes and those jeans tonight.  Problem solved.”

“You’d do that?” Ward asks.  “You’d lend me your clothes?”

“It’s just a shirt, kiddo,” John says.  Trying to make light of it.  Always trying.  “I’m not lending you my mother’s engagement ring.”

Ward finds it easier to stare at the ground.  “Thank you, John.  Really.”

John pokes him in the ribs.  “And hey, maybe if Skye’s as great as you say, I’ll end up lending you that ring one day after all.”

Ward isn’t even sure how to reply to that.  It’s too much.   “You don’t have to do that for me,” Ward says.

“I don’t have to do anything for anybody,” John says.  “But I want to.”

Buddy has realized, by now, that fetch time is over, and bumps Ward’s side with his nose.

“I’ll do my laundry, though,” Ward says.  “I don’t want you to have to clean up after me.”

John wraps his arm around Ward’s shoulder and walks him back into the house.  “I need to do laundry anyway,” John says.  “Don’t worry about it.”  Buddy follows behind them.

  
  
  
  


Ward adjusts the collar of his borrowed shirt for the umpteenth time, in the passenger seat of the Jeep.  

John reaches over to steady his hand.  “Hey,” John says.  “You wear it better than I do.”

“I’m,” Ward starts, then brushes off John’s hand so he can fix the collar a little more.  “I’m just making sure it looks nice.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” John says.  “You already look too nice for this little get together.”

“It’s a holiday dinner!” Ward protests.  “With important people.”

John lets out a sigh.  “You’re going to be just fine, kid,” John says.  “I promise that I wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves.”

Ward stares at his lap, finally moving his hands down from his collar.  “I wish Buddy could’ve come.”

“Victoria doesn’t like dogs in her house,” John says.  “I’ll say something, don’t worry.”

Ward stiffens.  “Don’t make a fuss because of me!” he protests.

“Grant,” John offers, as soft as he can manage.  “You’ll have me, okay?  I’m on your side.”

Ward nods.  And then John hugs him, and Ward has to remind himself not to freeze up.  He’s an adult.  He can hug people back.  He slowly brings his arms around John, lets his chin press against John’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Ward says, though he’s not entirely sure what for.

John pats him on the back, then let’s him go.  “Let’s go deep fry a bird, yeah?” John asks.

“Um,” Ward replies.  “Yes?”

With a brilliant grin, John slides out of the Jeep. Ward watches him, takes in a deep breath, and opens the passenger door.

  
  
  
  


“You’re late!” someone yells, and Ward isn’t even in through the door yet, so he has to assume it’s directed at John.  Well, it takes him a few seconds, but he almost completely convinces himself.

“Hey, shut the fuck up!”  John shouts back. “I’ve got the kid with me.  You’re making a bad first impression!”

Ward enters the house and shuts the door behind him, and wow, he really, really wishes Buddy or Skye or both were here right now.  Someone he could hold on to.  Without really thinking about it, he reaches out for John’s forearm.

“Are we in trouble?” Ward asks.

John looks over to him.  He doesn’t break contact.  “Of course not,” John says.  “Victoria Hand is just an enormous bitch.”

“And after I let you into my home,” says the same voice as before, which must belong to Victoria Hand, weapons director, textbook legend.  She’s standing in the kitchen doorway and she’s as fearsome as Ward imagined, all red lips and high heels.

“Yeah, yeah,” John says.  “Like anyone else would come to your Thanksgiving.”

Victoria clicks her tongue.  “Is this ‘the kid?’” She asks, and Ward is definitely not going to panic about this.  Not him.

“This is my protege,” John says.  “Grant Ward.”

Victoria Hand does something incredibly strange, then: she smiles.  Not at John, of course, but at Ward.  Closed lipped and almost kind.  “I don’t bite, you know,” she says.  “You don’t have to hide behind John all night.”

“I, um,” Ward says.  “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Victoria shrugs.  “You’re fine,” she says.  She gestures towards John.  “He’s the problem.”

“Where’s your better half?” John asks. 

“Talking to her mother in the living room,” Victoria says.  She turns her head back towards the kitchen.  “Melinda!” she yells.  “The guests are here!”

“One second!” yells back the woman who has to be Melinda May, and the nerves Ward’s been trying to swallow down come right back up again.

“Did you bring wine?” Victoria asks.  “I’m not sure we’re going to have enough for the four of us.”

“I brought wine,” John says.  “It’s in the car.  Do you want to go get it, Ward?”

John’s offering him an out.  John is backing him up.  But.  But.  John has been so good to him today.  The least Ward can do is try.  Just a little.  “I’d like to stay inside, if that’s okay,” Ward says.

John gives him a look, like he’s waiting for Ward to change his mind.  The look turns into a soft smile.  “Good for you, kiddo,” he says.  “Be right back.  Don’t scar the boy while I’m gone, Vic.”

“It’s all I ever do,” Victoria replies.

  
  


“What do you do?” Melinda May, the Melinda May, SHIELD legend Melinda May, asks, appearing in the doorway.

“You look lovely, Melinda,” John says.  He rubs Ward’s arm for a moment.  “Let me go grab that booze.”  Ward stands there as John walks out, now alone with Victoria Hand and Melinda May.  He’s regretting this decision.  

“It’s nothing,” Victoria says.  “John doesn’t want me to scar the boy for life.”

“The boy,” Melinda says, and now she’s looking straight at Ward.  Oh, God.  It’s not like when Skye looks at him.  It is nothing like that at all and he misses Skye so much right now.  “He has a name, Victoria.  Ward, right?”

“That’s what my friends call me,” he blurts out, and he has no idea why.  What friends?  What friends does he even have?  Also, also, ALSO! Melinda May knows his name?

“John’s very proud of you,” Melinda tells him.  “You’re a very impressive agent.”

“You with the flattery,” Victoria says.  “You’re going to give him a heart attack.”

“I’m a huge fan,” Ward says, again without his brain fully working.  “Of your work.  We learned all about it in tactics and you’re just so-”

“Did you learn about me?” Victoria asks.  She idly wraps her arm around Melinda’s waist, resting her hand on the curve of Melinda’s hip.  “I think you should learn about me.”

“Top ten most impressive SHIELD fires,” Melinda says.  “That’s what they could learn about you.”

“Please,” Victoria says.  “I’m a legend.  Aren’t I, Ward?”  She’s smiling at him again.  More knowing, this time.

“Yes,” he says.  “Yes you are Mrs. Agent Hand, m’am.”

Victoria breaks into laughter.

“Did I-” Ward says.  “Did I do something wrong?”

Melinda shakes her head.  “You’re fine,” she says. 

  
  


“I heard top ten most impressive fires,” John says, coming back in with three bottles of red wine tucked under his arm.  “Are we making a list?  Number ten, that time in Istanbul when-”

“Oh that was your fucking fault and you know it,” Victoria says.

“That’s not what the report says,” John replies.

Victoria rolls her eyes and saunters back into the kitchen, and Ward notes the way Melinda twitches as Victoria’s hand goes from Melinda’s hip to…oh.  Well.  Ward looks at the floor and tries not to blush.

“Kitchen?” Victoria calls, and Ward has to remember that no, his feet aren’t glued to the floor.  He can walk.  He still waits for John, though, for John to put his hand on Ward’s shoulder and guide him into the kitchen.  It feels safer that way.  Not that Ward had thought it would be unsafe, but still.

He hears a soft mewling when he steps into the yellow-tiled kitchen, and when he looks towards the sound he finds a black cat staring back at him.

“Hi,” Ward whispers, suddenly distracted.  The cat’s sitting in front of the dishwasher, waiting.  “Hi, kitty.”

“That’s Edith Wharton,” Victoria says.  “Can you say hi, Edith Wharton?”

“Oh my God,” John says, putting the bottles down on a mostly-cleared countertop.  “We get it.  You’re a lesbian.”

“Eat me,” Victoria replies.  “What’d you get?”

“Pinot noir,” John says.  “Nothing too fancy, of course.  Didn’t want to waste the money.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Victoria replies.

Ward reaches out his hand for Edith (can he call her just Edith?) to sniff, which she does, before turning her head away in semi-disdain.

“I’m sorry!” Ward pleads.

There’s a hand on him.  Small and slender.  “Don’t mind her,” Melinda says.  “She’s just fussy.”

“And you probably reek of dog,” Victoria tells him. 

“I’m sorry,” Ward repeats, and Edith seems to accept it the second time.  She nudges his hand.  “I’m sorry I smell like dog.”

“You smell fine,” John says.  “Cats are just assholes.”

“I hope you didn’t give him your aftershave,” Victoria says.  “It makes me queasy.”

“You make me fucking queasy,” John retorts.  “Do you have a corkscrew or a corkscrew-esque vibrator I could use?”

Ward coughs, loudly and without meaning to.  Melinda pats him on the back.

“We have a corkscrew, you cock,” Victoria replies.  “And besides, do you really want to talk about toys in front of your boy?  It might scar him for life.”

“He’s already scared,” Melinda says.  “Honestly, you two.”

Ward hops to his feet, almost in protest.  “I’m fine!” he says.  Announces, really.  “We can talk about corkscrew…vibrators.  It’s fine.”

The three adults stare at him for what feels like several eternities.  He really, really misses Skye.  She probably knows all about vibrators.  Don’t think about Skye using a vibrator.  Don’t.  You’re doing it right now, aren’t you?  Skye on her back with her hair fanned out and no, no, you are among reasonable, mature adults, but Skye, Skye playing with herself oh God oh no-

“Kiddo,” John says, waving his hand in front of Ward’s face.  “You sure you’re okay?”

Ward blinks, shudders, nods.  “I’m great,” he says.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” John asks.

“How old is he?” Melinda asks.

“God, Mel,” John says.  “We’re not the cops.  Let the boy have a glass of red if he wants.  I paid for it.”

Melinda seems to consider this, with her lips in a line and her hand on her hip.  “Fine,” she says, and waves her hand.  “Fine, he’s your boy.”

“Damn straight,” John snaps, and it makes Ward feel oddly…protected?  John’s gaze finds Ward, and it feels something like a spotlight.  “So, kiddo.  Pinot noir?”

Well.  This is.  It’s not that he’s never had booze before, but.  But.  John was going to drink.  And Skye drank, and she was fine.  And FitzSimmons.  They drank while they studied.  It would be fine.  John had argued for this.  Ward had already made waves.  “Sure,” Ward says.  “That would be…nice.”

John’s smile is painfully soft.  He uncorks the bottle.

  
  


Ward’s face feels kind of fuzzy, like it’s being pressed against a blanket.  He doesn’t hear shouting anymore, and that’s nice.  John and Tori had been arguing about using a deep fryer.  He thinks they were, at least.  He feels good.  He feels like he could go to sleep, if he really wanted to.

Ward can’t find Edith Wharton anywhere, though, and that makes him a lot sadder than he thinks it normally would.

“Ward!” John calls, over the counter island that divides the kitchen and the living room.

Ward stares at the carpet.  It looks soft.  Like a cat, or Skye’s hair.  Skye has such nice hair.  He should text Skye.  He should text Skye right now.

**Grant: You’re so pretty**

**Grant: I miss you**

**Grant: I can’t find Edith Wharton**

**Skye: What?**

**Grant: The cat.**

**Skye: Who’s cat?**

**Grant: Melinda May’s cat!**

**Grant: You’re so so so so pretty and I love you**

**Grant: Can I touch your face with my face**

  
  


“Grant,” John says, from right in front of Ward.  Ward jumps in response.  When did John get there?  

“Hi,” Ward says.

John eyes the wine glass.  “You’re good after that glass I gave you?” he asks.

“I had another,” Ward says.  “Where’s Edith Wharton?” he asks, not noticing the way John’s looking at him.

“Oh boy,” John says, and Ward almost picks up the little bit of exasperation, there.  “Kid, how much more did you have?”

“I filled the glass,” Ward says.

“To the top?” John asks, eying the glass like it’s done him some personal offense.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ward asks, with wide, sad eyes.  He did bad.  He did a bad thing.

“You’re just a little tipsy,” John says.  “You drank too much too quickly.  You’ll be fine, though.  Just hold off on the booze.”

“You said I was your boy,” Ward says, as John turns to walk away.  “Did you mean it?”

John pauses.  He comes back, actually comes back. So he can rest his hand on Ward’s shoulder. “Of course I meant it,” John says.  “It’s why I’m cutting you off.”

“I miss the cat,” Ward says. John looks sad for a moment, and Ward catches it this time.  “John,” he says.  “Why do you look so sad?”

John startles at that, suddenly becoming aware of his own expressions.  “I’m not sad, kid,” he says.  “I’m just…thinking.  Don’t worry about me.  I’m going to go find you a cat.”

“Cat?” Ward asks.  He’s pretty excited about it, actually.  His phone vibrates next to him.

**Skye: Are you drunk Grant Ward?**

**Skye: I wanted to be the first person to get you drunk**

**Grant: I’m not drunk**

**Grant: I just love animals**

**Grant: I want to hug a deer**

**Skye: You are white girl wasted**

**Grant: I love you**

**Skye: You adorable drunken nerd**

  
  


He smiles like an idiot, the warmth from the wine and Skye’s texts curling his toes.  He faintly notices a soft pressure on his leg, and looks down.

“Cat!” he says.  Not Edith Wharton.  A different cat.  This one’s grey, with green eyes. 

“Oh,” Melinda says, eying Ward from the kitchen.  “That’s Anastasia.”

“Are you serious?” John asks.  “Who names these cats?”

“Shut your face,” Tori says.  “Has anyone seen the oil?”

“Maybe you used all of it,” John replies.  He gets a smack in the arm for that.

«Who’s a pretty cat?» Ward asks Anastasia, his tipsy mind slipping into Russian.  Anastasia is what triggered it.  Russian, like the czarina.  They’d watched a video about her, in Russian class.  «Is it you?» Ward continues.  The cat tilts her head.  «Yes it is!» he declares.  «You are a very pretty cat!»

Anastasia finds this amusing, and leaps up onto Ward’s lap.  Ward laughs with approval.

“You speak Russian?” Melinda asks.  She’s come into the living room to keep an eye on him.  Probably.  Ward doesn’t mind, not when he’s holding a cat.

“Was I speaking Russian?” Ward asks, back in English.  He blinks, slowly.  “Sorry!”

“No, no,” Melinda says.  “It’s fine.  John told us you have a penchant for languages.” She seems to consider something in that moment, consider Ward and the cat in his lap.  «He said you speak Cantonese,» Melinda says, and she slips so easily into it that Ward does, too.

«Only a little,» he responds, in Cantonese as well.

Melinda’s eyes crinkle in amusement.  

«What?» Ward asks.

«You have a very strong American accent,» Melinda replies. 

Ward feels his face grow hot.  «I’m sorry,» he says, again.

Melinda shakes her head.  «I’ll help you sometime,» she says.  Something clatters in the kitchen.  “Not tonight, though,” Melinda says, in English.  “Tonight’s a train wreck.”

“You’re really cool,” Ward says.  “You’re even cooler than the stories say.”  He doesn’t usually refer to things as ‘cool.’  This is an odd night for him.

Melinda allows a smirk.  “That’s the wine talking,” she says.  Another bang, louder this time.  Followed by Tori cursing a storm.  Melinda huffs, and turns back to the kitchen.  “Tori!” she yells. “What the hell is going on in there?”

  
  
  
  


Ward tentatively wraps Anastasia into a small hug.  She mewls, but does not scratch at him, so he takes that as a sign that they’re on good terms.

“You’re a princess,” he whispers.  “A czarina,” he says.  “Skye is a princess, and you are the czarina.”

Anastasia yowls at him.  She sounds displeased.

“Sorry!” Ward says, rubbing behind her ear.  “Don’t be jealous, okay?  Do you want to talk to Skye?  She’s great!  We can call her right now!”

Anastasia tilts her head to look at Ward’s face.  Then she digs her claws into the fabric of his shirt.  Well, John’s shirt.

“No, kitty,” Ward says.  “This isn’t my shirt.”  He lifts the fabric up from his torso, so that his chest is exposed.  “You can scratch here, if you want.”

“Kid,” John says, from the kitchen.  “What the hell are you doing?”

Ward gives John a lazy smile.  “I’m protecting your shirt,” he says.  He’s doing such a good job of it, too!

“No more booze for you,” John says.

“I’m barely drunk!” Ward protests.  Anastasia kneads her paws against his stomach.  He giggles.  Actually giggles.  Which probably defeats his argument.  He doesn’t catch John’s small smile.

  
  


It takes Ward a moment of maneuvering, but he gets his phone out from under Anastasia.  Who has decided to lay out on his lap and take up as much space as she can.

Ward can’t stay mad at her when his brain is this boozed up.  Or when she’s being this cute.  All cats are cute, though.  All of them.

“You’re gonna love Skye,” he says, suddenly whispering.  Like they’re in on a secret together.  Anastasia stops licking her paws for long enough to give Ward a look.

He presses call.  It rings and rings and rings and finally he gets voicemail.  She must be eating.  He pets Anastasia.

Beep.  “Hiii,” Ward says.  “I was just telling this amazing cat all about you.”  He laughs.  “She’s a czarina and you’re a princess and she was jealous,” he continues, as if that makes perfect sense.  “I love you so much princess,” he says.  Anastasia meows.  “Not you, Anastasia,” he says.  “Skye.  I love Skye.”  Anastasia sneezes contemptuously on him.  “You’re perfect, Skye,” he says.  “You’re-” the machine beeps, letting Ward know that his message has been cut off.

If cats could laugh, he’s certain Anastasia would be laughing at him right now.  He stares at his phone.  “I wasn’t done yet,” he says.  He should call again.

He gets voicemail first this time.  Skye must’ve turned her phone off.  He’s sad, but not too sad, because he still gets to listen to her voice on the recording.  “Do you think Anastasia knows that she’s a cat?” he asks.  “What if we were cats?  If I was a cat, I’d sleep in your underwear drawer,” he says.  “With it open.  Of course.  Or I’d lay on your stomach and let you pet me.  I’d be the best cat,” he says.  He hiccups.  “I love you,”  he says, almost in a sing-song voice.  Almost.

“Hey Grant,” John calls, poking is head out of the kitchen again.  “Come watch us deep-fry a turkey!”

Skye’s answering machine beeps again.  “Come on,” Ward tells Anastasia.  “You have to get off my lap, now.”

She mewls in protest.

“Anastasia won’t move,” Ward calls back.  “What do I do?”

“Push her off your lap,” John replies.

Ward lets out a gasp.  “I can’t do that!”

“Oh for the love of-” Victoria mumbles, before appearing before Ward and cat with a checked apron tied around her hips.  She grabs a yowling Anastasia off of Ward’s lap and deposits her back onto the floor.  Anastasia gives Tori a bitter glance before marching off.  

“Drama queen,” Victoria says, sneering at the cat in return.  Ward sadly watches Anastasia go.

“Bye,” he whispers, feeling very low, very quickly.  He looks up to Victoria.  “I miss Skye,” he says.

Victoria smiles at him.  It’s almost warm.  She offers him her hand.  “You’ll see her Sunday,” she says.  “Come on.”

Ward takes her hand.  “Wow,” he says.  “You have really big hands.”

John begins hysterically laughing in the kitchen, and when Ward comes in with a rather sour-looking Victoria Hand, John laughs harder.

“Shut it,” Victoria tells him.  “Or I’ll put your face in the fryer.”

“And risk burning your hands?” John asks.  “You wouldn’t risk it.”

“Fuck off,” Victoria replies.

  
  


The deep fryer spits and bubbles and Ward finds it oddly fascinating.  Like it’s lava, or something.

“The oil is lava,” Ward whispers.  He’s clinging to John’s arm, which might be because the deep fryer also makes Ward very nervous.

“What?” Victoria asks, as she puts the last touches on the turkey.

“He’s very drunk,” John says.

“He hardly had anything to drink,” Victoria replies.

“I’m not drunk,” Ward says.  “The oil is just.  Lava.”

Victoria stares at him for a moment.  “Well maybe he just doesn’t drink that often.”

“Dragon lava,” Ward says.

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” John says.  “Vic, can you put it in?  I’m a little limited, here.”

Victoria smirks.  “If I had a dollar-”

“Don’t,” Melinda warns.

“I’d have quite a few dollars, is all,” Victoria says, feigning innocence.  “Now, how many times have we tried this?”

“This will be our seventh time,” John says.

“Seven is a lucky number!” Ward declares.  “Can I have more wine?”

“Not tonight, Grant,” John says.  “But he’s right.  Seven is lucky.  This is going to be our year.”

Victoria nods, and lowers the turkey into the vat of oil.

“Okay,” John says.  “So far, so-”

The turkey comes alight, seeming by it’s own will to spontaneously combust.

“Oh come on!” Victoria yells, stomping her foot for good measure.  “I did everything right!”

“Did you clean out the fatty parts?” Melinda asks.

Victoria pauses.  “I might have…slacked on that,” she said.  “I thought the oil would burn it off.”

“It’s burning, alright,” John says.  “Melinda?”

Melinda sighs.  “Do you want me to order Chinese or put out the fire, first?”

“Can’t you do both?” Victoria asks.  Melinda only shakes her head.

Ward’s just glad he’s drunk enough to find this hilarious instead of terrifying.

“Hope you like noodles,” John says to him.

“Noodles are the best,” Ward decides.  

“Out,” Melinda says and she’s managed to get both the phone and the fire extinguisher.

“What a woman,” Victoria sighs.

“Out!” Melinda insists, and no one is crazy enough to wait for her to ask a third time.

  
  
  
  


Buddy is diligently waiting at the door for John and Ward when they get back, and Ward still manages to smile at Buddy’s barking, despite the fact that he’s about to fall over.

“Booze makes you sleepy,” John says, supporting a very tired Ward.  “We’ll make you a nice fatty breakfast in the morning and-”  John stops himself.  Ward is too phased out to really care, but still.  “Sorry.  It’s a hangover cure.  I’ll figure someone else out for you, kiddo.”

“Not hungover,” Ward says.  “Just tired.”

John smiles.  “Of course,” he says, and lets Ward lean on him all the way to the guest room.

Ward falls onto the bed and finds that it’s the comfiest thing he’s ever slept on.

“You should bring Skye over sometime,” John says.  “You guys can share the guest room.”

Buddy leaps up onto the bed and claims a spot on the left side.  He nudges Ward and whines.

“Do you want to go to sleep, Buddy?” Ward asks, rolling lazily onto his side.

“You should both sleep,” John says.  “We can do more tomorrow.”

Ward looks up.  “You’re not taking me back to the academy?”

“Do you want to go back?” John asks.

“Not yet,” Ward says, and only because he’s too tired to stop himself.  “I like this.”

John lets himself smile at that.  “Go to sleep, kid,” John says.  “In the morning, we’re going shopping.”

Before Ward can protest, John’s closed the door.  He pulls his phone out of his pocket.  Five texts.  Five whole texts, just for him.

**Skye: Sorry I went AWOL earlier**

**Skye: It was family dinner**

**Skye: Got your messages and wow**

**Skye: Passing out in food coma now**

**Skye: Love you!!!!**

Grant sighs, and shows the texts to Buddy for good measure.

“She loves me,” he says.  Buddy thumps his tail.

**Grant: I love you too**

**Grant: See you Sunday!**

**Grant: <3**

He finds that sleep comes almost as easy as it did when Skye was laying next to him.

  
  


—

  
  


John drops him off on Sunday morning with a bag of new clothes, several containers of leftovers, and a bit of money that Ward knew he had refused.  John must’ve snuck it into Ward’s wallet, somehow.  It’s later than Ward would’ve thought, but John had let him sleep in.  He’s back before Skye, but only by about an hour.  

He doesn’t even get to prepare himself.  He’s not sure he could.  Not for Skye.  She’d see right through it, and he doesn’t even mind.

“Excuse me,” Skye announces, and there she is in the doorway with her hair pulled back, carrying more bags than she had when she left.  “I think this is a single room.”

Ward jumps out of his chair.  Actually jumps, and knocks the chair over, and then curses to himself and has to put the chair upright while Skye tries her hardest not to laugh.  Well, maybe not her hardest.  But she’s trying, at least a little bit.

Ward rights the chair, feels his heart thud (maybe a little more than usual), and runs his hand through his hair.  He smiles.  “Are you Sky Coulson?” he asks.  “Without the e at the end?”

She drops her bags on the floor and for once, for once, he picks up on her cue.  He opens his arms a little wider and she runs into them, wrapping her arms around his neck.  He picks her up, so that she doesn’t have to stand on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss on the lips.  Her lipgloss smells like cherries.  It must be new.  It’s sticky, but he likes it.

  
  


“It’s got an e at the end, actually,” she says.  She’s beaming at him, the sparkles on her lips smeared across her chin and probably all over his face, too.  “I’m warning you in advance that I don’t play well with others.”

“I’m sure we’ll work something out,” he says.  He’s still holding her off the ground, and she seems to like it so why would he ever put her down?  “Just try not to sexile me too much.”

She kisses him again, and this time he thinks he might have gotten sticky, glittery, cherry-scented lipgloss on his teeth.  “Never again,” she tells him.  “I promise.”  Her toes brush against his shins, and he takes that as his cue to lower her to the ground.

He presses kisses into her hair.  “I missed you so much,” he whispers.

“It was three days,” she reminds him.  She brushes her nose against his shirt.  “But I missed you, too.”  She tilts her head up, and he’s missed those big, brown eyes so bad that it aches.  “Imagine if we had to be apart for a week?”

He frowns.  “Won’t happen,” he tells her.  “I’ll follow you anywhere you go.”

She puts her feet on top of his feet and kisses his chin.  “We’ll talk about that when we get there,” she says.  “Don’t worry, okay?” Her fingers trace along the sides of his neck, where she can see blue veins making lines.  “I’m not going to leave you,” she says.  “So you don’t have to follow me.”  She draws circles on his neck, fingertips giving him just the ghost of a touch.  The circles get smaller and smaller until they’re just a point, and then her fingers crawl up, to his jaw, his chin.  Her hands feel soft and gentle and just…right.  Like his skin’s been longing for hers this whole time, and just didn’t know it.

  
  


He lets out a sigh.

Skye traces her fingers along the lines of his muscles, through his shirt.  “So what do you remember from Thanksgiving, oh boyfriend of mine?”

He wonders, since she has her hand on his chest, if she can feel the way his heart races when she calls him her boyfriend.

“Skye,” he sighs.  The best name.  The only name that matters.  “I missed you.”

She rests her hands on his sides.  “You said that already, dork,” she says.  She steps back.  Her hands are gone, they’ve left his side, and she’s not touching him anymore.  He whines.  Well, it’s kind of like a whimper.  And then he’s embarrassed for whimper-whining.  But.  He likes when she’s touching him.  He needs it, really.

“I just need to bring my stuff in,” Skye says, gesturing to her pile of bags by the still open door.  “And then we can strip to our underwear and snuggle in bed and only leave this room later today to steal hot chocolate from the dining hall.”

It’s a very specific plan, and it’s perfect.  “I’ll get your bags,” he tells her, and he picks them all up at once, out of the doorway.  “Where do you want them?”

“By my bed,” Skye says.  “Please.”

He sets each bag down carefully, in case there’s anything precious inside.  Well, all of Skye’s things are precious, but still.  Maybe fragile would’ve been the better word.

“Did Coulson take you shopping?” Ward asks.

“Yeah,” Skye says.  “I tried to tell him I was fine but he wasn’t having any of it.”

“John took me shopping, too,” Ward says.

“Good,” Skye replies.  “You could use some nice things.”

“I have you,” he says.

She stops, midway through taking off her shoes.  “Seriously?” she asks.  “Grant, that’s-” She stops.  “I’m a person.  Not a thing.  You need both.”

“I don’t think I do,” he says.  “I think I need you.  Only you.”

Something swims in her eyes.  His reflection.  But something more.  It almost feels like worry.  Almost.

“I promised you underwear cuddling,” she says.  There it is.  And he’s not sure what ‘it’ is, really, just that he can recognize when it happens.  And it makes him feel a little concerned, a little hurt, like there’s something she’s not telling him.

  
  


But then she pulls her sweater off, and he forgets everything else.

“The bra is new,” she tells him.  It’s a great bra.  Light pink and lacy and so pretty against her skin.  She’s grinning at him, and he might be staring, he might be completely unable to take his eyes off her.  Until she goes for her jeans.  “Plus,” she tells him, sliding her jeans down to her ankles.  “Matching underwear.”

He pulls her into a kiss, and she takes off his pants for him.  

  
  


How did he ever get so lucky?


	15. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after their reunion at the end of thanks, skye realizes she has a lot to teach ward. a lot.

Ward places a soft kiss on the tip of Skye’s nose.  She wrinkles her nose every time he does, and it hasn’t gotten any less cute.  It’s gotten more cute, actually.  Record-breaking levels of cute. 

It makes him curl his toes, just the fact that he can kiss her like this whenever he wants.  Her feet are tangled against his legs, and he feels her toes curl, too.

“I can’t believe I only got to kiss you for a day,” Ward whispers, and kisses the corner of Skye’s mouth.  “After wanting to kiss you for three whole months.”  He kisses her cheek, her forehead, and finally her lips.  She squirms against him, still naked and warm as he holds her under a pile of blankets.

“You can kiss me all you want now,” she says.  “I don’t mind.”  He loves holding her.  He loves the feeling of her in his arms.  He loves her he loves her he loves her.

He kisses her neck, because he knows she likes it.  And he likes kissing her neck.  “I will,” he murmurs.  It’s so perfect under here, like being in a little isolation bubble made of soft fabric.  Except he’s not isolated, he has Skye, so now he never has to leave.

She traces her fingers along his sides.  It gives him the shivers every time, and she’ll laugh, and he’ll give her the dopiest grin.  But only because she has the most beautiful laugh.

“Kiss me some more, then,” she says.

He smiles as he presses his lips against hers again, only feeling his mouth soften as she deepens the kiss.  Sometimes they get too heated, and their noses will be too smushed or their teeth will clack against each other’s, but Skye will just laugh it off and dive back in.  He’s trying his best to follow her lead.

He worries about hurting her, in the back of his mind.  He worried the first time, the second, and so on.  He’s so much bigger than she is.  So much stronger, and yet she trusts him with her body, she trusts that his hands will be gentle.

No one’s ever trusted him like that before.  It makes him feel like crying, though he can’t really pinpoint why.

She nips his bottom lip.  “You’re overthinking again,” she whispers.  “Just relax.  You’re safe here.”  She proves this by moving her mouth slowly, achingly so, against his.  Just so that he can feel the brush of her lips, a bit of moisture.  But no pressure.  Just a promise.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you more,” she says.

He wants to point out that’s not actually possible.  It is literally impossible, because Skye loves other things, and she should.  But he only loves her.

So instead of responding, he just whines.  She kisses his collarbone, then starts to suck.  He makes the most embarrassing noises possible.  Little breathy whines that sound so skittish and inexperienced.  But she keeps going.  She doesn’t mind.

She pulls back, and there’s a glowing welt on Ward’s collarbone.  “Your first hickey?” she asks.

He touches it.  It stings, but it makes him feel…important.  He mutely nods.

“Want another?” Skye asks.  “Or do you want to give me one?”  She moves up to her knees, the blankets tenting around her head.  “You could give me one here.” She brushes her fingers along her neck.  “Here.” Around her breasts.  “Maybe here?” Against the inside of her thigh.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“Maybe I like a little pain,” she says.  She’s drumming her fingers against her soft, soft skin.  And Ward really does want to put his mouth on it.  Maybe just a kiss?

He adjusts his position on the bed.  He runs his hands along her hips, before he lets them slide back down her legs.  He breathes against her hip, her thigh.  One kiss.  Then another.  She smiles, pets his head.  It feels good.  So good.  She lays back, again, so that Ward can nestle between her legs and kiss her.

He wonders what would happen if he kissed her-Well, it’s right there, and he knows people do it, he knows what oral sex is, he just has no idea how to perform it.  And he hasn’t even given her a hickey yet.  But she’s right there.  She’s right there.  He kisses a little farther up on her thigh.  

“It’s okay,” she says.  “Try sucking on the skin,” she says.

He starts lightly.  He’s hesitating.  Waiting.  Her hands get a little rougher.

“You’re gonna have to do it harder than that,” she says.  “It’s okay.  I like it.  I promise.”

He captures her skin between his teeth and sucks, and she hisses and pulls his hair.  And he sucks and sucks because she told him to, and she said that was okay and that she liked it.  She gasps and he pulls back.  He must’ve messed up.  He must’ve.

“Wow,” she says, eying the purpling mark he’s left.  Oh no.  Oh no.   “You did a good job on that.”  He rests his head against her leg.  “You sure you’ve never given a hickey before?”

“It looks like a bruise,” he says, reaching for it.  He slides his fingers over it.

“It is technically a bruise,” she says.  “But it’s like, not a bruise really? I don’t know.  I just like how it feels when you’re sucking on my skin.”

He thinks she might have wiggled her hips a little bit.  Maybe he imagined it.  Maybe he’s projecting his own arousal.

“If it helps,” Skye says.  “We’ll say no hickeys from this point forward, unless specifically requested.”

Ward tries not to bite his lip.  “Can you give me another, then?” he asks.  “Maybe on my chest?”

“You like it?” she asks.  “You’re not just saying that because I like it?”

He shakes his head.  “You can do whatever you want to me and I’ll probably like it,” he says.

She tugs on his hair.  “C’mere,” she says.  “You’re too adorable.  I can’t stand it.”

She waits for him to crawl back up beside her, then pushes him onto his back.

“Where do you want it?” she asks, tracing spirals on his chest.

“Anywhere,” he says.  She takes a moment to trace over his nipple and he almost whimpers.  “Just put your mouth on me, please.”

She laughs against him, and then latches her lips right over where his heart is.  Which is when he whimpers for real.

  
  


—

  
  


At some point, it gets dark.  Ward hasn’t been keeping track of time, really, because it doesn’t seem to matter when he’s snuggled up with Skye.  It feels like forever, in the best kind of way.  Like nothing else exists.

Skye puts a hand over her stomach.  “Ward,” she whines.  “I’m getting hungry.”

Now that she mentions it, he’s kind of hungry too.  But that would mean leaving the safety of the blanket pile.  This is a conundrum.

“Let’s go get hot chocolates,” she says.  “And maybe we can go get burgers later?”

“John gave me money,” Ward says.  “So I could cover it.”

She props herself up on her elbows.  “Coulson gave me money, too,” she says.  “So we’ll split it.”  She gives Ward a quick peck on the lips.  “But hot chocolate first,” she says.

“Do I have to put clothes on?” Ward asks, hand curling over the small of Skye’s back.  Skye cocks her eyebrows.

“Was that a witticism, Grant Ward?” she asks.

He feels himself squirm.  “Just a question.”

She gives him a once-over, strokes her hand down his stomach and smiles when he shivers.

“If you want everyone to see what you’re packing, go ahead,” she says.  “But it is cold out.”

Ward’s never thought about being naked in front of a large crowd of people; his nightmares have been…focused on other things.  But now that Skye’s mentioned it, he can’t help but picture it, and he thinks he might be blushing.

“No thank you,” he whispers.  “I’ll put clothes on.”

She laughs, and he smiles at her, even as she pulls back the blankets and reality comes back into focus.

“It is colder than I thought,” Skye decides, sliding out of bed.  “Look,” she says, rubbing her hands over her sides.  “Goosebumps.”

Ward stares at her skin, like she asked him to.  “You could come back to bed,” he says.  The bed that he has yet to leave, in the hopes that she changes her mind.

“But I’m hungry,” she says, stomping her foot to make a point.  Not a full stomp, though.  Like, half a stomp.  She’s very little.

He watches her for as long as he can get away with.  Just as she picks up her underwear off the floor, though.  She looks at him from over her shoulder.  Her chin brushes her skin.  She is beautiful, the most beautiful, and he is so very not-beautiful.  He wonders how she hasn’t noticed.  He’s just…dingy.  Isn’t she worried he’ll tarnish her?  Even a little?

“Come on,” she says.  “Show me some of the new stuff John got you.”

He swings his legs over the bed.  “It’s just clothes,” he says.  “Nothing special.”

Skye pulls out a shirt with a kitten printed on it.  “Any flannel?” she asks.

He’s going through his pants.    “I didn’t really want to ask for anything,” Ward says.  “I felt bad enough John was getting me stuff so I just let him pick.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Skye says.  “I’m glad you got more stuff to wear.  Now you won’t have to do laundry every three days.”  She’s pulling her own flannel, a red one, over her arms.

“I’m fine with doing laundry,” Ward says.  He can feel Skye frowning, and he  “But John just got me a bunch of like, these shirts?”  He pulls out a green one to show Skye.

“Henleys, Grant,” she says, with a small smile.  “It looks a little small.”

“That’s the style,” Ward says.  He pulls it over his head.  “John said you’d like it.”

Skye’s lips quirk into a strange kind of smile.  The kind that makes Ward feel like puffing his chest out.  So that Skye can put her hands on his chest, curl her fingers and press against his muscles.

“I do like it,” she says.  She tilts her head up, and he hopes that means he’s supposed to bridge the gap between their faces and kiss her.  Since that’s what he does, just goes for the kiss because it feels like the right moment.  He can try that, now.  He can.  

She wraps her arms around his neck.  The soft fabric of her flannel tickles, just a little.  She nibbles his lower lip for good measure.

“I had Coulson get me a couple larger shirts,” Skye says.  “In case you wanted them.  They’re from the men’s section, anyway.”  Her hand is tucked inside the sleeve of her shirt, and she rubs it against Ward’s cheek.  “It’s cold out, anyway.  You should wear one.”  She moves away.

“Oh it’s fine,” Ward says.  “I don’t really-”  She tosses the flannel at his head and he catches it on instinct.

“Put it on,” Skye says.  “It’s warm.”

“We’ll match,” Ward says.

“Is that not okay?” Skye says.  She pulls at the hem of his shirt.  “Are you embarrassed to match me, Grant Ward?”

He hopes he doesn’t pull on his flannel too quickly.  It’s a little tight in the shoulders, but then Skye says, “You look so cute!” And that’s really all that matters.

“You got a jacket, right?” Skye asks.

“John insisted,” Ward mumbles.  “I was fine without one, though.”

“A hoodie and a windbreaker do not a winter coat make,” Skye says.  “Unless you’re in Texas, but we’re not.”

“Do you know Texas well?” Ward asks, pulling on a coat.

Skye hesitates.  He pretends it doesn’t hurt.  It would be selfish, to have his feelings hurt by this.  Skye is a private person, and he’s prying too hard.

Slowly, Skye pulls her arms through the sleeves of a leather jacket.  “I grew up in Texas,” she says.  “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“You don’t have to,” Ward says.  He doesn’t mention that both of their jackets are black and made of soft-looking leather.  Skye doesn’t seem to be in the mood.  He feels a little swell of pride, though, that they double-match.

“I should,” Skye says.  She tosses her keys and her ID into her pocket and holds on to her phone.  “I just…” She sucks on her teeth for a moment, before deciding to loop her arm through Ward’s.  “Give me time, okay?  I need to get there.”

“It’s fine,” Ward says.  “Really.  It’s your choice.”

She pats his arm.  “Hey,” she notices.  “We double-match!”

Ward smiles down at her, and she kisses his bicep in return.

  
  


—

  
  


They follow the lights of the campus buildings to the dining hall, and Skye stays tucked against Ward the whole time.  Part of him worries that it’s too cold for her, that he should’ve asked her to put on a hat and a scarf and maybe a sweater between her flannel and her jacket.  The idea of Skye bundled up all warm and cozy makes Ward feel as fuzzy as one of those sweaters would.

Then again, if she was all warmed up properly, she wouldn’t need to curl against him to feel his warmth.  And he loves having her pressed against him and he loves when the wind smells like winter and her hair. 

"You’re okay?" he asks, at some point, when he thinks he feels her shiver.

She nods, head against his arm.  “More tired than I thought,” she says.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"A little," she tells him.  "But it’s a short walk and you’re warm."

He would wrap her up in his jacket and carry her, if he could.  He still tries.  He unzips his coat and wraps her under one side.  He keeps his arm over her shoulder, just in case.

Skye sighs, content, and her head is against his chest and this is what peace must feel like.  More than peace.  Love and warmth and other soft things that have avoided him for so long.

“I love you,” he says, because it is the God’s honest truth.

“I love you too,” she tells him.  Another breeze, and he wraps his arm more tightly around her, for protection against the cold.  She nuzzles against his arm.

  
  


—

  
  


The cafeteria is more crowded than Ward would like it to be.  But it usually is.  It’s just.  He had been having such a nice time, in the quiet with Skye, and now there’s other students and it’s loud and it’s warm, especially under all these layers.

“Hot chocolate machine,” Skye declares, even though Ward knows where it is, but he lets her pull him through the crowd.  It’s less overwhelming, when Skye is his anchor.  She grabs them cups and they wait on line, while she bounces on her toes and spares him several excited little looks.

He’d kiss her, but he’s not sure it’s appropriate in such a public space.  Plus, she might not want people to know they’re dating.  She might get embarrassed.  Instead, he just holds his cup and thinks about how pretty she looks.  The answer is very.

He fills up their cups for both of them, and Skye nuzzles his arm, and he thinks now might be an okay time to kiss her, just the top of her head.

Which is when someone calls her name.

It’s a boy.  Of course it’s a boy.  And Ward recognizes him from two in the morning.  He’s slept with Skye.  Boy in cafeteria has slept with Skye, and now he is is here, and Ward is not panicking.

He’s coming over.  He is coming over.  Oh, hell.  Several hells.  He’s got a j name, Jack or Josh or-

“Jeff,” Skye exclaims, with a warm smile.  “Hi!”  He pulls her into a half-hug.  Ward grips his hot chocolate.

“Haven’t seen you around lately,”  he says, with a smile that is charming in ways Ward could only dream of being.  “Go anywhere for break?”

Ward lets himself fade out of the conversation.  Well, he was never actually in the conversation, but now he’s just not listening to it.  Jeff is almost as tall as Ward is, and this is a bad sign.  Skye is laughing at something, and this is an even worse sign.  He’s probably going to ask Skye out, right now, and then Ward will have to wait for her to get back.  She loves him, she’d said so, but it’s stupid, really, to think that he’s the only one.  She’s not broken.  She’s not shy.  But he’ll wait for her, and he won’t even ask questions.  He’ll wait for her forever, just to make sure she has someone to fall back on.

Skye touches his arm, and he jumps.  She shoots him a curious look.  Then back to the others.  “Sorry,” Skye says, rubbing Ward’s bicep.  “But Grant and I are a little busy.”

It’s like the world suddenly notices that Ward exists.  He feels many pairs of eyes on him at once.

“Oh, hey,” Jeff says.  “You’re Skye’s roommate!”

Ward, to settle his nerves or his stomach, nods and takes a long sip of hot chocolate.

Skye loops her arm through his at that exact moment, and his drink sloshes.  “Yep,” she says.  “He’s my roommie.”

“So you guys have studying you need to do?” Jeff asks.

Ward isn’t sure who he’s asking, so he continues to drink.  It burns his tongue a little, but it’s better than talking.

“Fucking, actually,” Skye says.  Ward spits out half a mouthful of hot chocolate, if only to keep from choking on it.

“Skye!” he whispers, feeling hot.  He looks at Jeff.  Jeff looks at Skye.  Skye grins.

“Cool,” Jeff decides, with a nod.  “See you around?”

Skye tilts her head.  “Sure,” she decides.  She pulls Ward to the door.  “C’mon, boyfriend,” she says.  “We’ve got things to do.”

Ward feels kind of sick and kind of like he’s floating.  He also sort of wants to turn back to the cafeteria and yell “BOYFRIEND.  THAT IS ME.”  Skye called him boyfriend.  In front of other people!  In front of Jeff, who’s almost as tall as Ward.

  
  
—   
  


“You didn’t want to go out with him?” Ward asks, as Skye automatically slips back under his jacket. 

“Why would I want to go out with him?” she says.

Ward shrugs.  “Dunno,” he says.  It’s the least pathetic answer he can come up with.

“You’re my boyfriend,” Skye reminds him.  “Did you think that I’d still be dating other people?  Are you dating other people?”

“No!” Ward protests, maybe to quickly.  “No,” he repeats.  “There’s only you.  But-I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think I’d be enough for you?”

She stops.  She pulls out of his jacket, and he tries not to whine.  She faces him, and her eyes are burning.  “Grant,” she says, in a voice softer than he was expecting.  She hugs him, then, though it takes some maneuvering not to spill hot chocolate on each other.  She presses her face into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I’m stupid, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not stupid,” she says.  “You’re just scared.  I’m not going to up and leave.  I love you.”

“That doesn’t,” he starts.  “It doesn’t mean you won’t leave.”

She looks up at him, and she’s unreadable.  It kind of scares him.  “I won’t leave.” She says.  “I won’t leave you for anyone.”

He wants to believe her.  He needs to believe her.  He’s just not sure he can, completely.  “I love you,” he says.  Because he will even if she changes her mind.

He’d wait.  He’d do whatever she asks.

“Grant,” she sighs.  “You can’t shut down every time I talk to a boy.”

He tries not to frown.  “I didn’t shut down.”

“You did,” she says.  “I know you did.  And I know you, and I know you’re sensitive but Grant-”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.  “I just-I don’t think I’m-What if someone better comes along?” 

She wants to say something.  He can tell.  She sucks on her teeth when she is trying to think, and she keeps running her tongue over them, too, making a stretching under her lips.  Finally, she pulls her hand away from his hair.  She unzips her jacket, pushes away the collar of her flannel, and tugs down the collar of her shirt.

Ward stares at the hickey he’d left earlier, purple and kind of oval-shaped.

“I’ve never wanted one of these before,” she says.  “Until this afternoon.”  Her eyes are bright, brighter than the lamps that line the walkway.  “There is no one better.  There’s only you.”

He, on the other hand, does not have her talent for words.  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says.

She readjusts her shirt.  Touches his cheek.  “I know,” she says.  “I know, but I’m not as stable as you think I am and it’s just-It’s a lot to worry about.  And I know it’s not something that can be cured overnight but I want to try to help you.”

He nuzzles her hand.  “You already have,” he says.

“Please don’t make me your only hope for a healthy mindset, though,” Skye says.  

That’s a warning if he’s ever heard one.  That’s a warning, that’s a sign, but she’s Skye, and he loves her so much.  How bad could it be?

“I’ll try,” he says.  “It’s not you.  It’s me.  I just get worried.”

“Like I said,” Skye says, deciding now is a good time to nestle back into Ward’s coat.  “It’s not going to get fixed at once.  But we’ll work on it.”

They’re walking again.  Ward is nervous, or giddy, or maybe just kind of confused.  “It would be nice to have help,” he says.  Without really thinking about it.

“It’s what I’m here for,” Skye says.  “Help, sex, comic relief.  I do it all.”

“You’re perfect,” he tells her.

She shrugs, and he doesn’t see the flicker of sadness that crosses her face.  “Only for you,” she says.


	16. Super

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant ward buys tampons.

The first sign of trouble is that Skye isn’t snuggled against him.  Grant paws at the sheets for a moment with his eyes closed, like maybe she’s just rolled out of reach. 

“Grant,” she whines.  She sounds sick, and that’s when he goes into red alert.  He’s sitting up before he’s even properly awake, because Skye is sick and sick Skye is an emergency.

She’s curled up at the edge of the bed, a blanket wrapped around her tiny body.  “This sucks,” she says.

“Skye?” he asks.  “Are you sick?”  Oh God.  What does he do if she’s sick?  Should he call John?  Should he call Coulson?  Should he call the president or the National Guard or something?

“I just got my period,” she groans.  “And it hurts like a bitch.”

Oh.  OH.  “Your…period.”

“Yeah,” she says.  “It doesn’t always hurt this bad, though.  I don’t know what I did wrong but-” she makes a sharp noise of pain.  “Fuck me,” she says.  “God.  If I’m an alien, why do I still get periods?”

Is he allowed to touch her?  He’s not sure.  There has to be protocol for this.  A guidebook.  He puts his hand on her shoulder.  “We don’t know you’re an alien,” he says.

“I hate my life,” she whines.  “Oh my God, I hate everything.”

He strokes her back.  “Does that help?” he asks.

She gives a soft sigh.  “A little,” she says.  “Could you do me a favor, actually?”

He keeps stroking.  He uses his other hand to pet her hair.  His Skye.  His poor Skye.  “Anything,” she says.

“Could you go to the store and get me some tampons?  And some Advil.  And some chocolate.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he says.  “You’re sick.”

She rolls onto her back.  “I’m not sick, nerd,” she teases.  “I’m experiencing the ‘joy of my capacity for life.’”  He blinks down at her, and she wrinkles her nose.  “That’s how the nuns explained periods,” she says.

“Oh,” he replies.

“I can text Jemma if you really don’t want to go,” Skye says.  “It’s fine.”

She’s not trying to guilt him, he knows she isn’t, but he doesn’t want Jemma to have to go out of the way for his girlfriend.  That wouldn’t be fair.  It’s Ward’s duty, as a boyfriend, to do this.  Maybe.  Probably.  He has to do this.

“Of course I’ll go,” he says.  He leans down and kisses her forehead. “Tampons, Advil, chocolate.  Anything else?”

“A couple of magazines would be nice,” Skye says.  She tilts her chin, expecting another kiss.  He smiles down at her, and softly kisses her on the lips.  “You’re the best,” she says.  “I love you.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he says.  “You won’t be alone for long, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says.  “I will be in this exact spot, still curled in a ball.”  He frowns.  “Grant, it’s fine,” she says.

He doesn’t entirely believe her, but he’s also acutely aware that she needs him to do this, and every second he doubts her is a second he could be helping, instead.  So he smiles and squeezes her hand and kisses her nose before he leaves.

“Text me if you need anything else, okay?” he says.  “Or if you need me to come back.  If I sprint from the store, I can be back in five minutes.”

She smiles at him, kind of pained, kind of weak, but still entirely Skye.  “Thank you for this,” she says.

He feels kind of like her knight in shining armor.  Except instead of slaying a dragon he’s buying tampons.  Which is probably easier.  Probably.

  
  


Okay.  He takes it back.  First, there’s more than one brand of tampon. There’s at least like, a thousand.  And some of them are pink and some of them are yellow and what does super mean?  Is that better than regular?  It seems like it would be better.  He’s lost.  He is so lost here and he’s letting Skye down.  He needs help.

**Grant:  How do you buy tampons?**

**John: I would assume you go to the store, grab a box, and buy them.**

**Grant: Is super better than regular?**

**John: It seems like it should be**

**Grant: You have no idea how to buy tampons do you**

**John: Not even a little bit**

**John: Sorry kiddo**

**John: Do you want me to text Melinda and ask?**

**Grant: No!!!!!!**

Ward doesn’t need Melinda May, SHIELD legend, knowing that he has no idea how to buy tampons.  That’s embarrassing!  This whole thing is just a giant embarrassment, really.  Maybe he should just buy one of everything and see what Skye likes?  Is that too excessive?  And crap, he hasn’t even picked out chocolate yet!  He’s the worst knight in shining armor ever.  The worst.

“Do you know what brand to get?”

Grant looks to his right.  “Huh?”

The boy, assumedly the one who asked the first question, smiles back.  “The person you’re buying tampons for.  Do you know the brand?”

“I-” Grant says.  “I, um.  No.  I don’t”

The boy seems like he’s laughing.  Not out loud, but to himself.  It’s in the crinkle of his eyes.  “Send a text?”

“Oh!” Grant says.  “Oh.  That’s a good idea.”

**Grant: What brand of tampon do you like?**

**Skye: Tam-Pro Teen**

**Skye: I know I’m not a teen but it’s what works**

**Skye: I honestly don’t even know why it’s called ‘teen’**

**Grant: Is super better than regular?**

**Skye: Just regular is fine**

He looks back up at the shelf, and then to the boy that’s still standing there. Waiting patiently. 

“Um,” Grant says.  “Do you know where Tam-Pro Teen is?”

The boy grabs a box without even having to study the shelf.  “I get the same kind for my sister,” he says.  “It’s why I’m here, actually.”

“Oh, is she okay?” Grant asks.

The boy squints at Grant, for a moment.  Like he’s kind of confused.  “Yeah…?” he says.  “She’s just got her period.”

“That’s what I keep hearing,” Grant says. 

“You must not’ve had sisters growing up,” the boy teases.

Grant stares at the box of tampons in his basket.  “I did,” he says.  “But I left before she was really old enough for…this kind of thing.”

“Ah,” the boy says.  “Boarding school?”

“Sort of,” Grant says.

“I went to Exeter for a couple years,” he says. 

“My brother almost went there,” Ward says.  He looks back to the boy.  This whole thing seems weird, for reasons Ward can’t really put his finger on.  He doesn’t talk about family or periods to strangers in drug stores.  He doesn’t talk to anyone ever, really.  

“Not to be a weirdo,” the boy asks.  “But do you go to the school nearby?”  He drops his voice.  “You know, the one for ‘special training?’”

Now Ward’s really taken aback.  Civilians are supposed to think it’s a high-tech military school.  No one mentions ‘special training’ unless- “I, um.  Yeah.  I do.”  Which is not something he’s supposed to reveal to a civilian, but the boy seems smarter than most civilians, and Ward trusts him.  He doesn’t really know why.

The boy extends his hand.  “Antoine Triplett,” he declares.  “Your future classmate.”

Ward stares at Triplett’s hand, for a moment.  It takes a moment.  “Oh!”  Ward says.  “Oh, you’re a cadet!”

“Not until the spring semester,” Triplett says.  “Long story.”

“I’m Grant Ward,” Ward says, taking Triplett’s hand.  “I mean.  I’m also a cadet.  I mean.  What school are you in?”

“Spec-ops,” Triplett says.  “I wanted Sci-ops but, again, long story.”  He waves it off.  “You must be Spec-ops, too.  Since you’re-” he gestures.

Ward doesn’t get it.  “I’m what?”

Triplett smiles at him, like he genuinely finds Ward funny.  “Tall,” he says.

Ward isn’t really sure what that means.  “Thank you?”

Triplett bumps Ward’s basket with his own.  “So who’re the tampons for?” Triplett asks.

“My roommate,” Ward answers, before he can think about it.  “I mean-My girlfriend.”

“Is it your roommate or your girlfriend?” Triplett asks.  “You’re not cheating on anyone, are you?”

If Ward looks scandalized, it’s only because he is.  “No! Never!”  He shakes his head.  “My girlfriend is my roommate.  They’re the same person.”  The best person.  The only person who matters.

Triplett raises his eyebrows.  “You’re allowed to room with your girlfriend?”

“Well,” Ward says, idly beginning to straighten the boxes of tampons on the shelf.  “She wasn’t always my girlfriend.  She was my roommate because the system had her in wrong and then I pretended not to like her but I was pretty much instantly in love with her and then we went swimming naked and she kissed me in the rain and-”

“I think I get the picture,” Triplett says.  “Not that it isn’t an interesting story, but you said ‘swimming naked’ and I’m starting to think this conversation might not stay Walgreens appropriate.”

Ward feels himself flush.  “Did I say ‘swimming naked?’”

Triplett laughs.  “Yeah, buddy.  You did.”  He gives Ward a friendly pat on the arm, and Ward actually manages not to flinch away.  He’s doing people!  He’s doing people like a person would!

“I, um,” Ward says.  “I need to buy chocolate.  And Advil.”

“They unfortunately have yet to combine the two,” Triplett says.  “If I’d gone into Sci-ops, though, that’d be my first project.”  He starts to leave the feminine hygiene aisle, and motions for Ward to follow.

“Why don’t you just go into Sci-ops?” Ward asks.  “You seem like you really want to.”

“Some things are out of my hands,” Triplett says, which offers no clarification.  “I kind of over-Icarus’d this one.”

Ward nods, like he understands what that means.

“Does your girlfriend-roommate like dark chocolate or milk chocolate?” Triplett asks.  Ward knows a subject change when he sees one but still.  It’s not his place.

“Um,” Ward replies.  “I don’t know.”  He’ll just buy her a bunch of chocolate.  At least a pound of it.  That should work. 

Triplett snickers as Ward starts to load up on candy.  “You’re sure you’re getting enough?”

Ward pauses.  “Do you think she’ll want more?”

Triplett can only shake his head.  “I think you’re doing just fine,” he says.

  
  


Skye is exactly where she said she would be: curled up in a ball on the bed.  She’s got her phone out, though, and she’s either playing a game or texting or leaking national secrets.  Ward’s never quite sure, he just knows that she puts on this super-focused face when she’s on her phone and it’s so cute that he could just about hold her tightly to his chest forever and ever and tell her how cute she is.

Is that overboard?  He feels like that’s overboard.

“You’re back,” Skye says.  “And you have…a lot of bags.”

“I wasn’t sure how many boxes of tampons you needed,” he says.  “Or how much chocolate you wanted.  Or how much Advil you needed.”

“So you bought the entire drug store?” she asks.

He looks down at his purchases.  “Did I mess up?”  The bed creaks.  Skye is getting out of bed, with a blanket around her shoulders, but still.  “Skye!” he says.  “Get back into bed!”

She wraps him into a hug.  She’s small and warm and he hugs her back immediately.  

“You didn’t mess up,” she says.  “You did just fine.”  She pulls back, and stands on her tip-toes so that she can kiss his chin.  “Think of it this way: you won’t have to go out to buy tampons for another…” she looks down at the bags.  “Three years.  At least.”

He picks her up without thinking about it.  She needs to be in bed!  Where it’s safe!  And he will feed her chocolate.  It’s the perfect system. 

“Grant,” she whines.  “I can walk just fine.”

“You need me to take care of you,” he says, laying her down on the bed.  “So I’m taking care of you.”

She pulls him down into bed with her.  “How did I ever live through periods without you?” she asks.  He’s not entirely sure, but he does think about it.  She laughs. “Grant?” she asks.  “Can you rub my stomach?”

“Of course,” he says.  She lays on her back, rolls up her shirt for him.  He touches the warm skin of her belly and sighs.  “You’re beautiful,” he says.

She squirms.  “I’m a wreck,” she says.  “I’m all bloated.  You just roll out of bed looking like that.”

She can’t be serious.  That would be ridiculous.  And wrong.  He kisses her.  Several times, in light, quick pecks.  “You’re perfect,” he says.  “You’re always perfect.”

“You’re amazing,” she tells him.  “I mean it.  Thank you so much for this.”

He’s almost too busy kissing the skin of her stomach to hear her.  He looks up.  “What?” he asks.

“Thank you for going to buy tampons for me,” she says.

“I had help,” he says.  Admits, really. 

She smiles, musses his hair.  “So is that what took you so long?” Skye asks, rolling onto her side.  “You were busy socializing?”

“Did I take too long?” Ward asks.  “I’m sorry, I just-there was this guy and he had a sister and he knew what kind of tampons you liked because I was really, really confused and then we talked about Icarus and I bought chocolate and-”

She pulls him up by his collar, and kisses him quiet.  “Grant.  You made a friend.”

“I did?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says.  “You did.”

Well.  That’s certainly new.  “Oh,” he says.

She snickers.  “Dork,” she says, and kisses him again.  “What kind of chocolate did you get me?”

He smiles.  “Every kind.”


	17. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant and skye make a friend.

Skye enters the room with a sort of swiftness Grant’s never seen, and that’s not a good sign.  She slams the door behind her, presses her back against it, and pulls her coat a little tighter.

“What happened?” Grant asks, getting up from his desk.  “Is someone following you? Are you okay?”

“Promise you won’t get mad,” Skye says, adjusting her coat.

Grant frowns.  “I would never, ever get mad at you,” he says.  “Not ever.”

She nods in understanding, then swallows.  “Okay,” she says.  “Okay, this was totally impulsive and stupid but-” she unzips the top of her coat, and a fuzzy little head pokes out.  “He was all alone out in the cold and I couldn’t just leave him, Grant, and-”

“Kitten!” Grant exclaims, any and all worries forgotten.  “Oh my god, Skye.  He’s so cute!” He reaches for the little guy, pulls him gently out of Skye’s coat.  He’s a just little fuzzy baby.  “Oh Skye, I would have done the same thing.  Poor little fella.”  The kitten stares up at him with big, blue eyes.

Skye lets out a sigh of relief.  “I wasn’t sure if you were a cat person, or not.  I remember you drunkenly bonding with Anastasia but-”

“What’s his name?” Grant says, stroking the kitten’s head with his index finger.  “We have to give him a name.”

“Wait,” Skye says, shrugging off her coat.  “You want to keep him?”

  
  


Grant clutches the kitten to his chest, scandalized.  “Of course I want to keep him.  Why else would you bring him back?”

“I figured I’d give him a warm place to sleep for the night,” Skye says.  “And then pass him off to Coulson, or something.”

Grant looks down at the little furball rubbing his face into Grant’s chest.  “But Skye,” he says.  “He’s just a little baby and he needs us.”

“I feel like I did not fully think this through,” Skye says, but she doesn’t seem mad.  “I thought your animal capabilities only applied to dogs.”

Grant rubs behind the kitten’s ear and he purrs.  “I’m sorry,” Grant says.  “Was I not supposed to like him?  I can hate him, if you want.”  Grant looks down at the kitten.  “Stop purring,” Grant says, in the most soothing voice possible.  “Stop it, you little furball.”

The kitten responds with a soft meow.

Skye laughs, giving him that beautiful, amused smile that makes his head feel warm.  “You can’t be mean to animals if you try, Grant,” Skye says.  She smiles up at him, and oh! He knows that smile.  That means she wants a kiss.  He leans down and presses his lips softly against her own, giving her a content little hum of pleasure.  

“You’re the best,” she whispers.  Which is false.  She is the best.  But instead of saying that, Grant just gives a happy sigh.

The kitten gives a content little mewl, drawing back their attention.  

Skye rubs the top of his head.  “Do you have any names in mind?”

Grant shakes his head.

Skye pauses, studying the kitten’s face.  “Grant Jr?” She asks, with tiny laugh.  “He’s got your hair.”

“Skye,” Grant says.  “He’s not our baby.”  And then he freezes.  Oh God.  He said the b word.  Why would he do that?  Oh god.  Why is he even thinking about babies at a time like this?  The kitten meows at him, waiting for more pets, and Grant would love to pet the kitten, really, but Grant’s shut down and you’re going to have to leave a message after the beep.

Skye laughs.  “So we’re naming our son after you, then?” Skye asks.  “That seems a little vain.”

  
  


Grant sputters.  Babies with Skye.  Babies with Skye.  He is nineteen he’s not old enough for babies with Skye but it sounds like the best future in the whole wide world.  “I love you,” Grant says, as that is his most coherent thought at the moment.

“I love you too,” Skye says.  “Come on,” she says.  “We have to think of something.  What’s your favorite movie?”

“Lilo and Stitch,” Grant says.  Then flushes, a little.  “I used to watch it all the time with my siblings,” he says.

“Grant,” Skye says.  “I’m not going to judge you for liking Lilo and Stitch.  It’s adorable.”

“What’s your favorite movie?” Grant asks.

“Alien,” Skye says, with a shrug.  “But I think we should probably name this guy after your pick.”

“Stitch?” Grant asks.  Skye nods.  Grant considers it, lifting the little guy to his eye level.  “Do you like that name?”

The kitten bats at Grant’s nose, which is a definite yes.

“Stitch it is, then,” Skye says.  “Good choice, boyfriend.”

Grant feels his heart thump the way it always does when Skye calls him ‘boyfriend,’ and beams.  “Thank you,” he says.  He bounces Stitch lightly, which confuses the kitten to no end.  “Your name is Stitch!” Grant tells him, snuggling the little kitten tightly once more.  “Your name is Stitch and you are our first baby.”

Skye holds her arms out, waiting for Grant to give Stitch back.  “I found him,” Skye says.  “I wanna hold him again.”

Grant passes Stitch back to Skye.  He rubs his little face against Skye’s chest, which Grant happens to know is a very nice thing to do.  “We need to get cat stuff,” Grant says.  “Food, kitty litter, toys, books-”

“Cats can’t read,” Skye says.

Grant looks slightly offended.  “I meant for us to read about cat care,” Grant says.  “But I wouldn’t doubt any cat’s mental capacity.  They are very smart animals.”

Skye looks down at Stitch, then back up at Grant.  “Okay, then.”

“And we have to get him a collar and take him to a vet,” Grant lists.  “He needs to get his shots so he can be a healthy little kitty.”

“Okay but,” Skye says.  “We’re kind of keeping him against the rules, here.  So maybe we can see if FitzSimmons can do the vet work?  Just to avoid getting found out.”

“Do they know how that stuff works?” Grant asks.  “Cat care is very important, Skye.”

Skye pets Stitch, who has quickly and easily fallen asleep in her arms (and Grant knows that feeling, too.)  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“They’re not fixing him,” Grant says.  “When it’s time for that, we’re taking him to a vet.”

“So protective already,” Skye teases.

“He’s our little kitten,” Grant tells her.

  
  


Skye rocks the kitten in her arms, almost like she’s teasing Grant.  Mostly, it’s just adorable.  “I know, Grant,” she says.  “He’s our little kitten baby.”

“I’m going to take such good care of him,” Grant says.  Skye rests him on the bed, and he curls up in their blankets, like he’s making a little nest.

“Do you want me to go out to get cat stuff?” Skye says.  

“You should stay with Stitch,” Grant says, and Skye takes this as an excuse to fall into bed and pull Stitch into her arms.  “Just don’t crush him if you nap!”

“I won’t!” Skye protests.  “Besides.  I’m not napping.  I’m just snuggling.”  She rubs under Stitch’s chin.  “Aren’t I?” She gets a soft little purr in response.  “You could lay down with us, for a while,” Skye says.  She reaches up for him.  “Come on.  Come snuggle.”

He takes her hand, pulls her up.  Before she can protest, he kisses her.  With his hands in her hair, holding her steady, so he can kiss her with his whole heart and she’ll know he means it.  His shoulders tense, his breath catches, and she’s got her hands cupping his jaw, thumbs pressing into his skin.

“I will snuggle with you when I get back,” he says.  “But snuggling won’t do Stitch any good when he’s hungry or when he has to go to the bathroom.”

She places a peck on his lips.  “Come back soon, then,” she says.  “It’s cold out.”

“So keep the bed warm for me,” he says.

She laughs.  “Grant Ward, that was clever,” she says. 

“It was?” he asks.

Her nose brushes his, and if they keep kissing, he’ll never leave.  Which would be great, if there wasn’t a cat to feed.

“Soon,” he tells her, and kisses her forehead.  She smiles and falls back into bed.

“Love you,” she says.  She hoists Stitch onto her chest, waving his little paw in Grant’s direction.  “Can you say ‘I love you, Grant?’” Skye says.

Stitch meows, and Grant knows he means it.  “Aw, guys,” he says.  “I love you, too.”

“Hurry back,” Skye says.  “Before all the cuddling is gone.”

He doesn’t expect the cuddling to actually go anywhere.  But he does hurry.  Just in case.

  
  


(When he comes back with a liter box and enough kitten food for six cats, Skye tells him she downloaded Lilo and Stitch, and they watch it in their PJs while Stitch sleeps on Grant’s lap.)

(Later still, they sneak into the cafeteria after hours to get Stitch milk.  “The book said we should mix it with his food!” Grant says.)

(And she does keep the bed warm for him, all night. He covers her with kisses to show his thanks.)


	18. Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant and skye take a dance elective.

“Why are we even here,” Skye whines.  “It’s ten am on a Saturday, Grant.  I should be sleeping.”

Grant squeezes Skye’s hand before he lets go, but only so that he can get the door for her.  “John said that we should take the dance elective,” he tells her, following her into the classroom.  She expectantly reaches her hand back out, and he is quick to intertwine his fingers with hers.

“But it’s so early,” Skye protests. “And bed is so nice.”

Grant pulls her in, kisses her hair.  “It’s just this once,” Grant says.

“I can’t even dance,” Skye says.  She huffs.  “I mean, I can, but not fancy.”  She looks up, and he knows that look.  He knows it.  She’s trying to figure something out.  About him.  Right now.  “Do you?”

He wets his lips with his tongue.  He shrugs.  “I’ve probably forgotten by now.”

“But you learned,” Skye says.  “When did you learn?”

Grant tries to kiss her nose, but she shakes her head.

“Grant,” she repeats.  “You can tell me.”

He can.  He should.  But it’s hard.  “It was a long time ago, Skye,” he says.  “It’s not that important.”

She frowns, but lets him kiss her forehead.  More cadets are filing into the classroom, whispering to each other about things Grant can’t bring himself to be interested in.  If something important happens on campus, Skye tells him.  Otherwise, it doesn’t really matter.  He has a girlfriend and a kitten and three, count them, three friends.  He didn’t need to listen to gossip.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Skye whispers, resting her head against his chest.

He shakes his head.  “Never,” Grant says.  “You never upset me.  I was just caught off-guard, is all.”

She nods, but he gets the feeling she doesn’t really believe him.  She’s always been smarter than he is.

He rubs the small of his back.  Stupid.  Stupid.  He just needs to open up.  It’s Skye.  His Skye.  He needs to tell her everything.  He’s making her sad.  “Skye,” he offers.  “I think-”

  
  


The door creaks open, eliciting a sudden silence.  Grant catches a streak of red hair and a matching shoe sole.  Heels clack on the linoleum, echoing in the room.

“As part of my community service for a series of small, manageable fires in the greater Salt Lake City area,” the teacher announces.  “I have been asked to give back to the community.”  Her lips curl into a grin as she strides to the front of the room.  She’s reveling in the silence.  Grant can tell.  “I thought I’d start with the budding youths of SHIELD academy.”  She rests her hands against the whiteboard tray, leans back.  One foot is jutted out in front of the other, a pale leg proudly displaying a sharp, black pump.

Skye tugs on Grant’s arm.  “Isn’t that-”

Victoria Hand tosses her hair over her shoulder.  Grant feels half the room sigh and the other half shudder.  “My name is Agent Hand,” she says.  “Welcome to the dance elective.”

  
  


“Well,” Skye whispers.  “That was dramatic.”

The rest of the room seems to share the sentiment.

Agent Hand smacks her lips, surveys the room.  “Well?” she asks.  “Are you going to move the desks, or would you like to dance around them?”

Some of the cadets mumble quick apologies before scurrying to push the desks and chairs against the walls.

“Grant,” Skye says to him, while everyone else is distracted.  “It’s okay.  I’m not mad.”

He raises his eyebrows.  “What do you mean?”

“About you and dancing and questions about your mysterious past or whatever,” Skye says.  “You look worried.  And I don’t want you to worry.”

He nods.  “It’s just that my sister-”

  
  


“Grant!” Agent Hand calls.  “Come here.  I need you to be my partner.”

Grant, maybe because he was in the middle of something else or maybe because he is entirely unused to being singled out as a  _dance partner_ , does nothing but say “Uh?” Out loud.  And then he points to himself.

Victoria nods.  “Yes, you.  You’re the only one tall enough to do it.”

“But I-” Grant says.  He looks down at Skye.  “We-”

Skye looks up at him.  “It’s fine, Grant,” Skye says.  “You can tell me later.”

He nods.

“Grant,” Agent Hand says.  “Do you need me to pick someone else?”

Grant shakes his head and takes a step forward.  “I’m good Mrs. Agent Hand, Ma’am,” Grant says.

“Good,” Agent Hand says.  “I’ll be the one leading.”

Grant tilts his head.  “What?”

Which is when the music starts.

  
  


It’s actually pretty nice, letting Agent Hand lead.  She has a steady grip and she knows the moves down flat, which saves Grant a lot of embarrassment.

“You’re tense,” she whispers.  “Don’t worry so much.  Anyone laughs at you and I’ll cut their tongue out.”

It’s reassuring, at the very least.

They do a couple more warm-up steps, before Victoria switches their positions.  Grant briefly catches Skye’s eye, and she winks at him, which makes him go all gooey inside.

“I learned the tango on a cold winter’s night many years ago,” Victoria says.  “Not that many.  I’m not that old.  The point is, she was a prefect, and I was the only one who understood her.  Better than her parents,” she does the leading step, and Grant tries to follow.  “Better than her boyfriend.” Grant swears he sees her dark eyes light up.  “And she taught me to tango.”  The emphasis on the last syllable makes Grant furrow his eyebrows.

“Mrs. Agent Hand, Ma’am,” Grant says.  “Should we really be discussing-”

“The tango is far less complicated than the movies would have you believe,” Victoria continues.  “You just have to remember the steps.  Now, I’ve always thought that the taller partner should lead, regardless of gender.”  She flashes a bright grin.  “So as you can imagine, children, I always lead.”

“But you’re shorter than me,” Grant points out.

Victoria gives him an almost-glare.  “I’m in heels, Grant,” she says.  “I am always in heels.”

Grant nods.  “Sorry,” he says.

Agent Hand studies his face for a moment.  She sighs.  “Fine,” she says.  “But don’t tell John I never did anything for you.”

She kicks off her heels, and stands exactly two inches shorter than Grant.

Grant feels something like shock roll through him.  “What are you-”

Victoria rearranges their hands, so that his are in the leading position.  “You were paying attention to the steps?”

“I was,” Grant says.

“Well then,” Victoria says.  “Lead.”

“Right now?” Grant asks.

Victoria nods.  “You can do it,” she whispers, low enough for only the two of them to hear.  “And then you can show your girlfriend.”  She makes a face.  “Ugh.  Giving myself the hetero shakes, there.”

Grant finds that funny, and he hopes he’s supposed to.

“Someone restart the music,” Victoria demands.

  
  


He leads.  He leads for real.  With Victoria Hand, in front of actual people.  In front of Skye, who he keeps seeing out of the corner of his eye.  She’s beaming.  She’s proud of him, and that makes Grant want to kiss her a billion times and then some.  Which he always wants to do, but especially wants to do right now.

And when Agent Hand stops the dance and says ‘alright, pair up,” Skye makes a beeline right for Grant.

He’s not really sure why he thought she wouldn’t.  But he worries.  There’s a lot of people in the class.  She could change her mind.

But she doesn’t.

“Now, I’ll warn you,” Skye says, taking his hands.  “You made it look really easy.”

Grant gives a quiet chuckle.  “Then it must be easy,” he says.  “I’m not that good.”

Skye attempts to step in rhythm with him.  He’s on beat.  She is not.  “Yes,” she says.  “You are.”

He tries to slow down, for her.  She’s so small and her little legs don’t keep up with his long ones as well.  They’re kind of mismatched, really.  Someone like Fitz would’ve been a better dance partner, but when Ward had asked Fitz to come, Fitz had responded ‘I don’t dance and I don’t get up before 3 on Saturdays.’

Plus, Ward’s not really sure he could share Skye with another dance partner.  Even Fitz.

“Just relax,” Grant says.  “Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m not thinking about the dance,” Skye says.  She looks up from her feet, right at him.  “You never mentioned a sister before.”

He stops dancing.

“I-” he says.  “She’s not someone I’m used to talking about.”

Skye sways to the music, like she’s trying to keep rhythm.  “Why not?”

Grant looks at Skye.  Feels her hand against his.  The warmth of her brown eyes.  It’s okay.  It’s okay.  “Rosie is sick,” Grant says.  “Always has been.  So I was never allowed to talk about her.  I feel like I’m going to get in trouble right now, actually.”

Skye shakes her head, pulls him forward.  She stands on the tips of her toes so she can kiss him on the lips, right there in front of everyone.  “You’re not going to get in trouble,” Skye says.  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He nods.

“So you learned to dance for her?” Skye says.

“Sort of,” Grant says.  They begin their steps again, a little less intensely this time.  “Not formal dance.  That I had to learn for family reasons but-” He smiles to himself.  “Her favorite movie was _Sleeping Beauty._  Aurora had blonde curls just like her and she loved Prince Phillip so much…”  He’s going to get emotional.  In dance class.  In front of Skye.  In front of Agent Hand.

“Hey,” Skye says, pressing herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.  “Hey.  I’m here.  Don’t worry.  Don’t be scared.”

They sway.  “I would pretend to be Prince Phillip,” Grant says.  “I learned the dance for her, so she could pretend to be Aurora.”

“The dance from ‘Once Upon a Dream?’” Skye asks.

Grant gives a weak grin.  “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you teach me?” Skye asks.

“Because we’re learning to tango,” Grant says.

Skye snickers.  Smiles.  It makes Grant feel a little lighter. 

“Later, then,” Skye says.  “You can teach me.  Do you sing the song, too?”

She’s not teasing him.  She really wants to know.  She’s open and kind and good and he loves her so much.  “Sometimes,” Grant says.  “I will, if you want me to.”

“Is it easier to learn than the tango?” Skye asks.

“You’ve almost got the tango down,” Grant says.  “I mean it.”

Skye tilts her chin, presses the softest kiss to his lips and Grant feels the start of a whine coming on.

  
  


“Hetero shakes,” Agent Hand calls, interrupting the chills running down Grant’s spine.

“Yes, Mrs. Agent Hand, Ma’am?” Grant says.

“Wait that’s us?” Skye asks, turning her head towards Agent Hand.  “We’re ‘hetero shakes,’ now?”

Victoria gives a self-satisfied little grin.  “We’re learning the tango.  Skye, if you need help, I’ll show you.”

Skye shakes her head.  “Grant’s a great teacher.”

Grant swears that Agent Hand almost, almost winks at him.  Something fond crosses her face, though he’s not really sure why.  

“Okay,” Skye says, readjusting her arms.  “Tango time.”

Grant tightens his grasp on her hand, just a little bit.  “I’ll count, okay?”

“You count, I’ll try not to look like an idiot.”

“You never look anything other than beautiful,” Grant murmurs.

Skye blinks.  “Well then I’ll try not to look like a  _beautiful_  idiot, then,” Skye teases.  “Start the count?”

He puffs out his chest.  “Okay, on my lead,” he says.  “One, two-”


	19. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stitch turns out to be a bit of an odd kitten.

“No, I think I would’ve noticed before if my cat glowed in the dark, thank you!”

Grant’s never told Skye this, but she whispers very loudly.  Loud enough to wake him up without meaning to. 

“Did you give him something the last time you were here?” Skye hisses.  Grant should probably do more than try to pull her back to him, but he’s sleepy and he misses his little spoon.

Skye shakes him off.  “No, you can’t come over! It’s like, five in the morning!”

Well, Grant’s waking up a little more with every passing moment, and he’s certainly awake enough to know that Skye is upset.

“Skye?” he whispers.  It’s still so dark.  There’s a light coming from the bathroom, making Skye’s skin glow a light…blue?  “Skye?”

She tosses her phone against the mattress.  “There’s something wrong with Stitch, Grant,” she whispers.

“What?” Grant says.  He traces his fingers along her shoulder.  “Skye, is he sick?”

Skye turns her head.  “Grant,” she says.  “He’s at the edge of the bed.”  She doesn’t sound scared.  She’s worried.

“Stitch?” Grant asks.  He keeps one arm over Skye while he lifts himself to get a better look at the edge of the bed.  “Kitten?”

  
  


Stitch stares back at him.

And. His eyes are glowing.

 Like two tiny blue night lights.  Or something.

Grant does not consider himself a feline expert, but cats are definitely not supposed to do that.

“FitzSimmons?” Grant asks.  “Did they do this?”

“That’s who I was on the phone with,” Skye says.  “And they say they haven’t.  They do want to come examine him, though.”

Stitch lets out a small mewl.

“He’s still our cat,” Grant says.  “He’s not going to hurt us.”  He gets out from under the covers, gets on his hands and knees.  “Right, Stitch?” Grant asks.  “We’re okay.”

“It’s not us I’m worried about,” Skye says.  “It’s him.  What if he’s sick?”

“I don’t think he’s sick,” Grant says.  He moves slowly, carefully.  He doesn’t want to startle Stitch off the bed.  “C’mere, Stitch,” Grant says.  He shows Stitch his palm, face up, and wiggles his fingers.  “Come on.  Do you want to play?  Are you hungry?”

  
  


Stitch pounces on Grant’s hand.

“Oh thank God,” Skye says.

“What?” Grant asks, scooping Stitch up and bringing him back to the head of the bed.  “Did you think he was going to hurt me?”

“I dunno,” Skye says, scratching under Stitch’s chin.  “I’m not really sure what to expect, right now.”

Stitch gives a content purr and shuts his eyes.  The room falls back into darkness.

She sighs. “Do you think they did something to him?” Skye asks.

“Who?” Grant says.

“FitzSimmons,” Skye says.  “Do you think they did something to him the last time they watched him?”

“I don’t think so,” Grant says.  “They’d never hurt him.”

“Maybe they weren’t trying to hurt him,” Skye says.  “It could’ve been an accident.”

Stitch is so soft and fragile in Grant’s hand.  “They wouldn’t do something like that, Skye,” he says.

“I mean, I’ve never seen him do it before,” Skye says.  

“Maybe he’s had it the whole time,” Grant says.  “He sleeps when we sleep, and if it only happens in the dark-”

“I’m calling Simmons,” Skye decides.  “She wanted to look at him.  Like, his eyes and stuff.”  She sighs.  “Fuck it.  I’m calling her.”

Stitch purrs in Grant’s hand.  Grant takes this to mean he’s okay with it.  Stitch has always seemed to like Jemma, anyway.

Besides.  It’s not like they’re going to be able to go back to bed.

“No, Jem, I’m not mad at you,” Skye says, beside him.  “I think the lab thing was…I was just freaking out, okay?  Oh my god, stop asking me if I’m mad!”

“Skye,” Grant says, rubbing her shoulder with his free hand.  “It’s okay.”

Skye sighs.  “How soon can you meet us at the lab?” Skye says.  Grant can hear Simmons on the other end, and internally winces at the frantic tone in her voice.  “One blood sample, Simmons,” Skye says.  “That’s it.  And it stays between us.”  Promises from Simmons.  She must’ve been frantic, thinking Skye was mad at her.

Grant knows the feeling.  Not recently, but…he does.

“Get your coat and boots on,” Skye says.  He assumes this means she’s hung up.  “We’re going on an adventure.”  She leans down, kisses Stitch on the head.  The kitten meows, opens his eyes again.

“Ow,” Skye says, pulling back.  “It’s like staring into a flashlight.”

“He didn’t mean it,” Grant says.

“I’m not mad, Grant,” Skye says.  “Not at Stitch or you or Jemma, even.”

He shakes his head.  “I never said-”

“It’s okay, Grant,” she says.  She curls her fingers under his.  “I promise it’s okay.”

She pulls him forward and kisses him, to prove her point.

Grant could do this forever.  Hold Stitch nearby and kiss Skye and be bathed in a faint blue glow.

Oh, right.  Yeah, there’s that.

  
  


They set out for the lab, bundled in their coats.  Grant’s got Stitch inside his coat, wiggling against his chest.  His little blue eyes shine a light straight ahead.

“I guess we don’t need a flashlight,” Skye says.

Grant smiles down at their kitten.  “I guess not.”

It’s appropriately cold for 5:30AM in November.  Stitch burrows into Grant’s coat a little. 

“Do you want my scarf?” he asks.

“You should wrap his legs,” Skye says.  “He won’t be happy if he’s dangling.” Grant gives her a curious glance.  She shrugs.  “I might’ve read through that cat care book you bought.”

“Aw, Skye,” Grant says.

“Just wrap him up, dummy,” Skye teases, nudging Grant with her elbow.

“Right,” Grant says.  He stops on the path, pulls off his red scarf and loosely bundles Stitch in it.  He zips his coat up a little higher, to keep his neck warm. 

Stitch’s lifts his head up just a little, so he can smell the air.  Grant grins.  “You smell that?” Grant says.

Skye wrinkles her nose.  “Smell what?”

Grant bumps her shoulder.  “It smells like winter,” Grant says.

Skye shakes her head.  “I don’t smell anything.”

Their boots crunch on what’s left of fall’s brown leaves.  “I mean, I grew up with it.  I’m used to it.”

“Oh,” Skye says.  “I wish I could smell it, I mean.”

“Give it time,” Grant says.  “You will.”

Skye smiles.  “Okay,” she says.  She stares at the blue light leading their way.  Wraps her arm around Grant’s bicep.  “What do you think he is?”

“Hm?” Grant says.

“Stitch,” Skye says.  “Do you think he’s a sci-ops experiment, maybe?  You found him on campus.”

“I dunno,” Grant says.  “He’s just a kitten to me.”

“I know that,” Skye says.  “I’m just…speculating, is all.”

Grant studies her face, the little curve of her friend.  “No one’s going to take him away, Skye.” Grant says.  “I promise.  Even if sci-ops made him.  He’s ours now.”

Skye looks up at him.  Imploring.  Concerned.  “Promise?”

“I promise,” he says.  He glances down to Stitch.  “I promise, Stitch,” Grant says.  “No one’s gonna take you away.”

Skye nuzzles against Grant’s bicep.

  
  


“I have a weird thought,” Grant says, breaking the comfortable silence between them.  “And it’s really weird.”

“Weirder than this?” Skye asks.

“It’s related,” Grant says.

“Weird away,” Skye tells him.

Grant adjusts Stitch in his coat, first.  “Well,” Grant says.  “What if Stitch is like you?”

Skye stops.  “Excuse me?”

He shouldn’t have said it he shouldn’t have.  “You said you thought you were an alien, maybe,” Grant says.  “Remember?”

“I remember,” Skye says.  He’s pissed her off.  He was just trying to help and- “You think our cat is an alien?” Skye asks.

“Maybe he found you,” Grant says.  “He’s from your home world, and he’s here to watch over you.”

“Grant,” Skye says, softly.  “This is my home world.”

“I’m sorry,” Grant says.  “Your birth world.”

Skye nods.  “Better,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Grant repeats.

“It’s an interesting idea, Grant,” Skye says.  “You’re not wrong for bringing it up.”

He feels the tension in his chest dissipate.  He can breathe again.  “I didn’t want to upset you, but it made sense to me.  Sort of.”

Skye shrugs.  She rubs Stitch on the head.  “Are you an alien kitty?” she coos.  “Are you here to protect me?”

Stitch purrs.

Skye laughs, low and beautiful.  “I don’t need a protector cat, though,” Skye says.  Not to Stitch.  To Grant.  “I have you to watch out for me.”

Grant can’t even find the words.  She is so good to him.  So good and so right and so wonderful.  “I love you,” Grant says.  “I don’t care if you’re human or alien or cat-person-”

“Woah now,” Skye teases.  “I think that last one’s a little out there.”

“I’m just saying,” Grant says.  He leans forward, and steals a kiss.  “I will never stop loving you.”

Skye grabs him by the collar and kisses him more fiercely.  Grant remembers to hold on to Stitch.  He’d never drop his little baby.  Even if Grant really wants to run his fingers through Skye’s hair.

“We should get to the lab,” Skye whispers.  “I’m getting cold.”  She gives him one more quick kiss.  “I love you too, by the way.”  She kisses Stitch quickly on the nose.  “And you too, Stitch.”

Stitch squirms again in Grant’s scarf.  Skye makes sure not to look into his eyes again.

“Come on,” Skye says.  And Grant follows.


	20. Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant and skye aren’t really sure how christmas cheer works, but help is on the way.

“Grant,” Skye says, in that tone of voice that means she’s got a request coming.  “We’re kind of a family, right?”

And there goes any chance he had of actually studying.  He swivels around in his chair.  Skye’s standing in the doorway carrying a bag that looks way too heavy for her, and her cheeks are all flushed from the cold and her hair’s all mussed.

Did she ask him a question?  She’d asked him a question.  She drops the bag by the door as Stitch snakes between her feet, waiting for her to pet him.

Yes!  She’d asked if they were a family.

He hadn’t answered because his heart’s still lodged in his throat.  “Yes!” he says.  “Yes.  You’re practically my wife.”

Skye pauses.  Stitch pauses.  Grant waits for a black hole to appear under his seat.  He is not so lucky.

“Well,” Skye says, tilting her head.  “I thought that we should take a Christmas card photo.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, rising from his seat.  “That was stupid.  What I meant was, um-”

She blinks at him.

He rubs the back of his neck.  “What I meant is that you’re really special to me.  Like, you’re the most important person in my life.”

Skye bridges the gap between them, stepping over Stitch in the process.  She wraps her arms around him.  “Same,” she says.  

Is he blushing?  He feels like he’s blushing.  She kisses his nose.  “Nerd,” she says.

He cleared his throat.  “Um, who are we gonna send the cards to?” Grant asked.

Skye shrugged.  “Dunno.  Phil and John, maybe Ms. Hand, and we’ll keep one for ourselves,” she says.  She grins at him, sparkling, content.  “It’ll be the first in our collection.  The first of many more.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.  He’s still getting used to the promise of a bright future.  “Skye-”

She kisses him quickly, but it lingers on his lips.  “Hey,” she whispers.  “Do you wanna see what I got you?”

His forehead is pressed to hers, and at some point, she got all tangled in his arms.  He nods.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I’d like that.”

  
  


Stitch is pawing at the bag when Skye picks it up.  “Sorry, baby,” she says, as Stitch stares up at her.  She quickly empties the contents of the bag onto the bed, grabbing something out of the sweater pile.

“How many Christmas sweaters did you get?” Grant asks.

“For me or for you?” Skye says.

“Um, both,” Grant says.

“Oh,” Skye says.  “Six.”

Grant tries not to pale.  He does.  “With what money?” he says.

For a moment, she pauses.  Frowns.  She looks up at him.  “I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you think,” she snaps.

“No!” he says. “I would never think that.”

“Well,” Skye says.  “You’d be the first.”

“Skye-”

“Coulson kind of got me a no strings attached credit card,” Skye says, shuffling her feet.  “I’m sorry.  If it’s too much I’ll return them, but I just thought it would be nice.”

He does think it’s too much.  He really does, but he can’t tell her.  It would ruin her Christmas.  It would ruin everything.  She deserved to buy sweaters and be happy.  He kisses her forehead.  “It’s perfect.  I’m sorry,” he says.  “I’m not used to getting presents.”

She gives him a smile that has a kind of sadness to it, like she understands exactly what he means.  “Okay,” she says.  “I’ve just never had money to spend for Christmas before.”

“I know,” he says.

“And it’s not like I bought a boat, or anything,” she says.

“That’s true,” Grant replies.

“We deserve to be happy,” Skye decides.  She looks down at Stitch for a moment before scooping him up.  “And look!” she says, her tone banishing even the thought of sadness.  Stitch wriggles as she places a set of tiny antlers on his head.  She presents Stitch to Grant.  “Kitten antlers!” she says. Stitch is not amused.

“I don’t think he likes them,” Grant says.  He doesn’t want to.  Skye seems so pleased, but he doesn’t want his kitten baby to be unhappy.

Skye stares at Stitch, who is trying to shake the antlers off his head.  “Boo,” Skye says.  “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

Stitch wiggles in her hands in an attempt to get his paws free.

Skye sighs.  “Fine,” Skye says to him, taking the antlers off.  He immediately begins to bat at them.  “But I’m getting a holiday picture out of you later, mister.”

Stitch keeps wiggling, trying to claw at the antlers.  With a shake of her head, she places Stitch and his new toy back down.

“I’ll wear antlers,” Grant offers.

“I didn’t get people antlers,” Skye says.  “Mainly because I’m worried you won’t be able to fit under a doorway with the extra height.”

Grant laughs at that, and she laughs, too.  “That’s fair,” he says.

“Instead,” Skye says.  “I got you this!”

  
  


It takes her a moment.  She has to reach inside the sweater, fidget with it, and then grin as it lights up.

The sweater has blinking lights.  How did the sweater have blinking lights?  Grant stares at it. “I, um-”

Skye pulls it to her chest, the hint of a frown appearing.  “Do you not like it?” she asks.  “Is it too much?”

It’s Rudolph, the old stop-motion one, surrounded by twinkling lights.  Naturally, he has a bright red nose, glowing proudly.

“I got a matching one,” Skye offers.

“It’s perfect,” Grant says, even if it’s the strangest thing he’s ever seen.  “I love it.”

“Are you just saying that?” she asks.

He takes it from her, shaking his head.  “I love it,” he says.  “I mean it.”  She got it for him, especially for him, so even if it is weird and probably a fire hazard, he’ll never get rid of it.  It’s special.

“Try it on?” she asks.

He takes off his shirt without thinking twice about it.  He’s grown very fond of the praise Skye gives him.  Sure enough, her finger is already tracing around his chest.

“Hm,” Skye says.  “Maybe we could just paint a sweater pattern on you?”

“That sounds cold,” Grant says.

She laughs.  “You should probably put an undershirt on,” she says.  “Those lights are not going to be comfortable against bare skin.”

He nods.  “Can I see yours?” he asks.

“Sure!” Skye says, and takes off her shirt.

Grant has also grown very fond of Skye’s boobs.  Even fonder than he had been to begin with, which should’ve been scientifically impossible. 

It isn’t.

“Oh,” Skye teases.  “You meant you wanted to see my sweater?”

“Um, sure?” Grant says.

She plants a kiss firmly in the center of his chest, pinches his butt for good measure.  “Get dressed,” she says.  “I’m gonna look forward to pulling Rudolph off you.” She pauses. “That sounded sexier in my head.”  

Grant adjusts himself.  “It worked for me.”

She just laughs.

  
  


Skye’s sweater is red where Grant’s is green, and she has the girl reindeer from the movie.  “See?” Skye says.  “It’s perfect.”

She looks unbearably cute.  If she got any cuter, Grant would probably die.  And he’s having sex later, so he really, really doesn’t want to die.  “I love you,” he says.  “You’re so pretty.”

She bats her eyelashes at him, for added effect.  It flusters him, even though he knows she’s teasing.  “Where are we taking pictures?” he asks.  The sweater feels a little bulky, but if it makes Skye happy, he’ll wear it.

Plus, they’re matching, and that’s one of his favorite things.

“I was thinking we could go out to the quad?” Skye says.

“Near the tree where we kissed?” Grant asks.

She touches the spot over her heart.  “Grant,” she says.  “You remember the exact tree?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“That’s so sweet,” she says.  “But I was actually thinking we should get a nice shot of the school in background.  But if you want the tree-”

“I like the school idea, actually,” he says.  “The tree is…personal.  You know?”

She has such soft, pretty eyes.  “Yeah.  I do.”

He smiles.  Of course she understands.  She always does.  “Who’s going to take the picture?” he asks.

Skye shrugs.  “I figure someone has to be wandering around.”

“You’re just going to force someone to take our Christmas card photo?” Grant says.

“I mean,” Skye says.  “Yes.”

“Maybe we can ask FitzSimmons?” he asks.

She makes a drawn out noise of distaste.  “They’re stuuuudying,” she whines.  “Like nerds.”

“Well, most people want to pass their exams,” Grant says.

“But not us,” Skye says.  “Trust me.  Flunking’s the way to go.”

He raises his eyebrows, rubs at his neck.  “I, um.  I’d like to pass.”

She tch-es at him.  “Nerd,” she teases. “C’mon.  Let’s get this over with so you can come back and _study.”_

“I’ll help you study, too!” he says.

“I don’t need to study,” she says.

“Skye, you should-”

She spins to face him, her back against the door.  “I’m fine,” she insists.  She quickly bounces on her toes, pecks him on the lips.  “C’mon.”

  
  


The quad’s as close to empty as Grant’s ever seen it.  It’s not too cold, but it’s kind of grey.  And everyone is studying. 

Skye doesn’t seem happy.  And he’s not sure why.  Maybe she’s cold?  “It’ll still be a good picture if we have our coats on,” Grant offers.

“No,” Skye says.  “We’ll be out here for another five minutes, tops.  We just need to find someone to take a picture.”

“There’s no one here,” Grant says.  “Maybe we should try again tomorrow?”

Skye stomps her foot and huffs in frustration.  “I don’t want to try again tomorrow,” she says.  “I want you to actually like your sweater and I want people to stop stressing about stupid finals and I want to actually have a real fucking christmas for once!”

He wraps his arms around her as she frowns.  “Skye,” he says.  He strokes her hair, and tries to will her warmer.  “Let’s go inside.  We’ll get FitzSimmons another time and-”

“I hate Christmas,” she says to him, to the blinking lights of his sweater.  “I’ve always tried to like it and it’s always let me down.”

“Skye,” he pleads.  “I love my sweater.”

“No you don’t,” she says.  “You think it’s stupid.”

“No!” he protests.  “Skye, no.  I love it because you love it.”

She sniffles.

“I love you,” he says. “And I don’t want you to freeze.  I’ll give you a good Christmas, I promise.”

“Stitch didn’t like his antlers,” she says, still pouting.

“Cats are weird,” Grant says.  “It’s not your fault.”

“No one wants to watch Christmas movies or drink hot chocolate or-”

“Skye,” he says.  It’s so weird, being the reassuring one.  This whole thing feels weird to him, but if she needs him, he’ll do it.  “It’s finals.  It’s not you.”

“You’ve been ignoring me to study, too,” she says.  “And I get it.  Everyone is a better student than me, but-”

“We’ll take a selfie,” Grant says.  “A Christmas selfie.  And we’ll make a card with that.”

Skye nods against his chest.  “Okay,” she says, in a voice that is too quiet for her.  “Let’s do that.”

“Give me your phone,” Grant says.  She almost looks offended.  “Longer arms,” Grant says.

“Right,” Skye says, and pulls her phone from her back pocket.  She’s still got a sadness to her, even as Grant rubs her shoulder.

“Skye,” he offers.  “What can I do to make you happy?”

“It’s not you,” she says.  “It’s Christmas.”

  
  


He’s about to offer something, anything, as soon as he can think it up.  A winter wonderland.  Ice skating.  The entire mall, if she really wants it.  He’ll take her to meet Santa, if that’s what it takes.

But someone is calling his name from across the quad.

“Grant!” the voice says, and a person draws nearer.

“Who’s that?” Skye asks, and Grant catches something in her voice.  Relief, maybe?

“Um,” Grant says, squinting.  “Oh!  Oh, that’s my friend!”

“Your friend?” Skye asks.  She blinks.  Maybe she’s a little put off by Trip’s sweater, which Grant can see is a blaring red and green.  “Oh! The one that helped you buy tampons?”

“Trip!” Grant yells, and maybe he’s relieved, too.  Maybe he doesn’t know how to fix anything at all, and maybe he needs a delay.

Maybe Trip is here to save his butt a second time.

“Dude,” Trip says, and it definitely is Trip (he’s much closer, now.)  “There is no one here.”

“It’s finals,” Grant says.  “Or it will be.  Everyone’s studying.”

Trip snickers at that.  “Lame.”

“That’s exactly what I was saying,” Skye says.  “Hi, by the way.”

Trip waggles his eyebrows at Grant, like they’re in on some big secret together.  That makes Grant feel kind of weird, and weirder still when Trip smiles down at Skye.

“You’re the roommate,” Trip says.  “The girlfriend.  The love of Grant’s life.” 

Skye gives a smug grin, and offers her hand.  “And you’re tampon guy,” she says.

Grant almost makes a noise of protest, but Trip just laughs. He takes her hand. “I am,” he says. They shake.  “Antoine Triplett,” he says. “The reason your boyfriend came back with the right brand.”

"Skye," she says.  "And I guess I owe you one."

"Eh," Trip says, as they drop the handshake.  "It was nothing."

"It meant a lot to me," Grant says.  "I mean.  That you helped."

"Aw," Skye says, nudging Grant in the ribs.

"Well I’m glad I did it, then," Trip says, with that same blinding smile.  He clasps his hands, tucks them under his chin. "So," he says. "Any reason you two are out here dressed like christmas trees?"

"Yes!" Skye says, like she’s just remembering.  "Oh my God! This was fate. You can take the picture!"

"The picture?" Trip says.

"Yes," Skye says, excitedly pulling on Grant’s sleeve.  "Our Christmas card photo!"

"Ah," Trip replies. "That does explain the sweaters, yes."

Skye scoffs, but Grant knows she’s amused. “Well what’s your excuse?” she asks, gesturing to Trip.

Trip is unfazed.  “Come on, girl,” he says, pulling on his own horrible sweater. “You know I look good.”

"Wow," Skye deadpans.  "Just. Wow.”

“Gimme your camera,” Trip says.

“It’s my phone,” Skye warns, snatching it from Grant’s hand and giving it to Trip.  “So be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Trip says.

“Mine’s Douglas,” Grant announces.  Trip and Skye have a lot of banter going.  He feels a little left out.

“That’s so cute,” Skye says, rubbing his side.  “Grant Douglas.”

He takes her hand.  “I’m glad you like it.”

“Hey,” Trip says.  “Wait for me to set up before you start getting romantic.”

Skye pulls Grant by the collar of his sweater and kisses him.  Grant doesn’t even care that she’s doing it because Trip told her not to.  When Skye kisses him, it’s the only thing that matters.

“Horny teenagers,” Trip says, taking a few steps back.  He lines up the camera.  “So I guess your Christmas card is going to be the two of you making out?”

Skye pulls back with an audible pop, and grins.  “Take it now,” she says.

Grant’s aware that he’s nuzzling Skye’s cheek like an idiot, and that she’s laughing and pressed against him.  He’s aware that Trip is taking his picture, but he doesn’t really care about that, now.  

Skye gives him another kiss, and for a moment he’s allowed to forget about stress and Christmas and Skye’s frowns.  He just embraces her, kisses her back.  He hopes it soothes her as much as it does him.

“Any good pics?” Skye asks.  “Because I’m getting cold.”

Grant rubs her arms.  “I’ll keep you warm.”

“Babe,” she says.  “You’re such a sap.”

He doesn’t mind being one, for her.  Better to be sappy than worried.  “I love you.”

“This is disgusting,” Trip says.  “Should I have stopped taking pictures?”

“Oh my God, you’re going to ruin my battery,” Skye says.  She breaks away from Grant and marches over to Trip, grabbing her phone.  “Go,” she says, gesturing to Ward.

“Go what?” Trip asks.

“Go take a picture with Grant,” Skye says.  “You’re already in a sweater.”

“Oh,” Grant says, suddenly feeling shy.  “You don’t have to do that.”

Trip snickers.  “Just don’t be jealous when I look better with your boyfriend than you do,” he says.

“Is your vanity supposed to be endearing?” Skye asks.

Trip wraps his arm around Grant’s shoulder, poses for the camera.  “Is it working?”

“Wait,” Skye says, ignoring him.  “Hold that pose. I just got a text.”

  
  


Trip clicks his tongue and relaxes his shoulders.  Grant goes back to fidgeting.

“Are you stressed?” Trip asks, through his smile.  “You seem stressed.”

“Skye hates Christmas,” Grant says back, as quietly as he can mange.  “I don’t know how to fix it.  I’ve never had a real Christmas.  How can I give her one?”

Trip smiles with enough enthusiasm that Grant feels a little less stressed.  “I’m a Christmas expert,” Trip says.  “Just call me Antoine Claus.”

Grant stares at him.  “Um-”

“Don’t call me that,” Trip decides, shaking his head.  “But I will help.”

“Yo, are you gonna kiss my boyfriend, too?” Skye asks.  “Or are you actually going to pose for a picture?”

“Do you want me to kiss your boyfriend?” Trip asks.

“Get your own,” Skye says, and Grant feels kind of proud of himself, for a moment.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” she says.

“Aw, thanks guys,” Trip says.

Skye glowers at him, but only for a moment.  Her sweater blinks bright white light at them.  Grant feels like his is blinking back some kind of morse code, that she can read it and that she knows it will all be okay.

It has to be okay, somehow.  He smiles for the photo.

“You guys are so cute!” Skye declares.

His collar itches, just a little.  But it’ll all be okay.  He won’t let her down.


	21. Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant learns the wonders of oral sex. he’s basically a prodigy.

Grant is shaking.  Shivering.  Closing his eyes and pulling on the sheets.  He might whine a little.  He feels too good to be embarrassed by it. 

And then, all the tension at the base of his spine is gone in a burst, and all is right with the world.  He whimpers and squirms as he comes.

“So,” Skye says, licking her lips, resting her head on his knee.  “That’s a blow job.”

Grant falls back onto his elbows.  “I love you,” he sighs.

Skye climbs up onto the bed next to him.  He hears her sucking on her teeth and shudders again, for good measure.  “You taste clean,” she says.

“Is that good or bad?” Grant asks.

“Good,” Skye says.  She flicks him on the nose.  “I’m gonna go brush my teeth.”  She lazily rolls off the bed.  Somewhere from Grant’s desk, Stitch mewls at his mommy.

“Shh, baby,” Grant says, tilting his head back.  “C’mere.”

Stitch mewls again.

Grant just smiles back.  He’s gotten a blow job now, which means Skye loves him enough to actually do that for him, and he’ll reciprocate forever if he has to, he will, he-

He has no idea how oral sex on a girl works.

Oh, crap.

  
  


He should brush his teeth, too.  He hops out of bed, joins Skye in their tiny bathroom.  She raises an eyebrow as he grabs his toothbrush.

“What?” he asks, squirting out toothpaste.

She spits into the sink.  “Nothing,” she says.  “You’re just cute.”

He beams. “Thank you,” he says.

She pinches his butt as she leaves the bathroom, and Grant doesn’t choke on his toothbrush.  He almost bites it in half, though.

“Skye!” he says, through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“You have cute butt!” she responds from their room.  “You’re Prince Cute Butt!”

He never agreed to that nickname.

He spits, rinses his mouth, looks at his own reflection for a moment.  He grabs the floss, gets in between his front teeth and makes sure his gums are clean.

He bounds out of the bathroom.  “Skye!” he exclaims.  “I’m ready!”

She’s putting on her shoes.  She tilts her head.  “For?”

He’s not going to frown.  “I’m going to perform oral sex on you.”

She actually jerks forward when she snickers, like he’s surprised her.  “Oh my God,” she says.  “Grant, I have class.”

“But you-” he says.  “We-”

“I promise,” she says, coming up to him.  “I’ll let you repay me.  I’m looking forward to it, big guy.”

She kisses him.  It’s like mint on mint.  His mouth feels a little too fresh, actually.  Her mouth is perfect, though.  She pulls back with a pop and grins.  “Take care of your daddy,” she says to Stitch, patting his fuzzy, black head.

“I love you,” Grant says.  “I won’t let you down.”

She gives him a curious kind of look.  “Okay then,” she says.  She gives him one last kiss on the cheek, for good measure.

“Bye,” Grant offers to the door as she leaves.

Stitch stares at him.

“Did she seem a little quick to leave?” Grant asks.

“Meow,” Stitch says, and he has a point.

Grant flops back down onto the bed.  “She knows she’s going to be disappointed,” Grant says.  “I’m not going to be any good.”  He runs his tongue behind his teeth.  “Crap.”

  
  


Stitch across the bed, and plops himself expectantly across Grant’s chest.  Grant rubs gently behind Stitch’s soft ear.  “Is there like, a website I could go to?” Grant says.  “There has to be, right?”

Stitch purrs, nuzzling his head against Grant’s fingers.

“Not that I’m expecting you to know,” Grant says.  Maybe he should text Fitz?  Or Simmons?  Maybe both?

He feels like that would be a terrible plan.  They’d probably ask to come observe, knowing them.  Observe his technique in the process.  Point out everything he’s doing wrong.

Because it’s not going to be embarrassing enough on its own.

Texting FitzSimmons is definitely out.  It probably wouldn’t hurt to just Google it.  Grant gently moves Stitch off his chest.  He feels a small pang of guilt when Stitch gives him an indignant mewl.  This is important.  This is Skye they’re talking about.  “Sorry, baby,” Grant says, pulling his laptop off of his desk and onto his legs.  “It’s for science.”

He quickly types “oral sex tips,” into the search bar.

He regrets it immediately.

A part of him feels the urge to cover Stitch’s eyes.  Though he’s almost positive that cats can’t see screens.  He has the urge to avert his own eyes, actually.  Also the urge to click one of the links.  Maybe he should.  Just to learn!  It’ll be helpful!  Maybe.  Just one link.  He clicks the one with the tamest site name.

Well.  He should probably regret this, too.  He thinks it might be helpful, though.  Those are, well.  They’re people.  Guy and a girl.  And the girl is getting exactly what Grant’s not sure he can give.  Though the camera angle they’re using is really, really showing him how it works.

It is 12:34 in the afternoon, and he is watching a porno.  On the school’s filter.

Grant quickly looks over to Stitch.  Sleeping.  Thankfully.

He turns back to the screen.  Turns off the volume.  Would Skye want him to watch this?  She doesn’t seem like the jealous type, but he’s not an idiot.  This is very clearly porn, and Skye might not be the kind of girlfriend that wants him to watch it.

Maybe he should try something else.

Though the girl who’s receiving seems to be enjoying herself.

No, no.  This isn’t helpful, this is just him watching porn and pretending to learn something from it.  Grant only watches for another minute, tops, before closing the laptop.

“Okay,” Grant says, to no one in particular.  “That happened.”  He reaches for his phone.  There has to be another way to do this.

  
  


He’s not fully expecting John to pick up.  It’s the middle of the day, and John might be off in Belarus or Yemen or Kyoto right now.  There’s no way to tell.

“Hey, kid,” John says.  He sounds busy.  “Emergency?”

“Um,” Grant says.  Technically no.  But it feels like one.  So sort of?  “Have you ever performed oral sex on a girl?”

Silence on the other line.  “Hang on,” John says.  “Fee, I need to take this!”

Grant hears Felix call back, “We’re in the middle of a meeting!”

“Yeah,” John says, fondly.  There’s some shuffling around.  “Hold on, kiddo, I’m gonna go back to my office.”

“John!” Felix says.

“Busy!” John calls back.

“Oh if you have a meeting I can um,” Grant says.  “I can wait.”

“Eh,” John says.  “Nothing important.”

“It is important!” Felix protests.

“Give me a sec, Grant,” John says.  “I’ll call you back.”

“Sure,” Grant says, letting John hang up.  Grant drums his fingers on his knee.  Entertains opening his laptop again.  That’s probably a bad idea.

The phone rings.  “Hello?” Grant says.

“Hey kid,” John says.  “I brought someone back to my office.”

Grant pauses.  “Oh.”

“Because the thing is, I have never gone down on a woman in my life,” John says.  “Nothing appeals to me less.”

Someone makes a rather rude comment in the background.  It almost makes Grant’s ears flush.

“Hey, screw you too,” John says, to the other person in his office.  “Anyway, kid, I just so happen to know someone that might be able to help you.”

Grant feels his stomach drop.  “You, um, you do?”

“I’ll put her on right now,” John says.  “And don’t worry, I’ll stay in the room to stop her if she gets too weird.”

“Oh screw you,” Agent Hand says, taking the phone from John.  “Grant?  Still there?”

Grant is going to die.  He is going to die, and at his funeral, they will discuss his incapacity for oral sex.  “Hi Mrs. Agent Hand, ma’am.” 

“If you’re worried that he announced it to the conference room,” Victoria says.  “He didn’t.  He just asked me to come with him, and it’s not like I’m going to sit in a meeting if there are better things to do.”

That does make Grant feel a bit better, yeah.  It doesn’t really help the fact that he’s on the phone with THE Victoria Hand, who is going to talk to him about oral sex, but it soothes his embarrassment a little.  “You didn’t have to leave your meeting for me,” Grant says.

“Eh,” Tori says.  “It’s always the same old same old.  Don’t blow anything up, don’t flirt with the ambassadors, blah, blah, political dignity, blah.”

Grant almost laughs at that.  Victoria Hand clearly doesn’t think it’s a big deal.  Maybe she actually wants to help.  Though that does seem unlikely.

“So,” Victoria continues.  “You’ve never eaten pussy before.”

“Tori!” John yells in the background.

“What?!” she replies.  “He hasn’t!”

“I um,” Grant says.  “I haven’t.”

“What have you done, then?” Tori asks.

Grant is sure he’s bright red.  His face feels hot.  On fire, even.  “She, uh,”

“Grant,” Tori says, softly.  “This isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

“You’re scaring him,” John says.  “This was a bad idea, give me the phone-”

“Wait!” Grant says.  “I want to talk to her.  I want to learn.”  He wants to make Skye happy, most of all.

“Ha!” Tori says.  “I mean, okay, Grant.  If that’s what you want.”

“I, um,” he says.  Takes a deep breath.  “She taught me how to finger her.  She showed me what she likes.”

“Smart girl,” Tori says.  “So you already know the layout, then.”

“What?” John says.  “Are you gonna draw him a map?”

Grant hears Tori let out a huff.  “In a way, John,” she says.  “Not that you would understand.”

“My mouth is a gift from God,” John says.  “Just ask Felix!”

“Guys?” Grant says.  “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

“Yes,” Tori says.  “Ignore him.”

“I’m just worried,” Grant says, before he can think better of it.  “I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“If she loves you, she’ll understand you’re new at this,” Victoria says.  It’s strangely practical advice.  “However, you have me in your corner.  And that should fix things quickly.”

“Oh,” Grant says.  “Okay.”

“Now,” Victoria says.  “You’re going to want to draw a diagram…”

  
  


Grant’s doing his homework when Skye gets back.  He almost knocks it all over as he stands up to greet her.  “You came back,” Grant says.  It’s a relief, to see her. Not that he thought she was going to flee campus, or anything.  Mostly.

She’s been gone for two hours.  He really needs to get a lock on these kinds of things.

“Um,” Skye says, resting her backpack beside her bed.  “Was I not supposed to?”

“Stitch really missed you,” Grant says, gesturing to the cat.

Stitch twitches slightly in his sleep.  He’s found a particularly sunny spot on the desk today.

“Yeah,” Skye says.  “He seems really distraught.”

Grant wipes imaginary dust off of his jeans.  “Um,” he says.  “I missed you.”

Skye tilts her head.  Places her hand on his stomach.  “You okay?” she says.

He nods.  “You left before I got a chance to uh-” He covers her hand with his.  This is supposed to be romantic, right?  “I wanted to go down on you.”

Skye almost smiles.  “Did you think I was fleeing in terror?  I had class, Grant.”

She did.  He knew that.  “Yeah, but you seemed really eager to leave.”

She stands on the tips of her toes, pecks him on the lips.  “Baby,” she says, running her free hand along his jaw, against his cheek.  “You’re nervous.”

He thinks the best thing to do right now is wrap her into a hug.  So he does, and he presses his nose into her hair.  “Sorry,” he murmurs.

She rests her head on his chest.  “For what?”

“Overreacting?” he offers.  “I mean, not that you saw it.  But the overreaction was there.”

“You’re perfect,” she says, which is a bold-faced lie.  But it sounds almost convincing, coming from her.  “And I mean, it’s kind of flattering.”

His head tilts back.  

“That you care so much about making me happy,” she says. “But you forgot about yourself, again.  Would going down on me actually make you happy?”

“Making you happy makes me happy,” he says.

“That’s not really an answer,” she says.

“I really want to go down on you,” he says. He wants to add, ‘I wouldn’t have just spent an hour and a half on the phone if I didn’t,’ but she really doesn’t need to know that.

Her smile has the kind of softness that makes his breath catch.  And then she giggles, a little, and breaks the contact.  “I’m kind of like, gross though,” Skye says. “I had training.  So I’m gonna shower really quickly, and then we can climb into bed and-” She pokes his side.  “You know.  Oral sex.”

He laughs without meaning to, quickly covering his mouth.  “Sorry,” he says.  “That was- Was that supposed to be funny?”

Skye shrugs.  “It could be,” she replies.  “You can, you know, prepare while I’m showering.”

Grant looks at her.  At his bed.  Not at Stitch, because Stitch is sleeping behind him.  There had been no discussion of preparation while on the phone.  Well, not on his part.  Wasn’t he supposed to just…get started?

“You know,” Skye says.  “Like, touch yourself or something.  I dunno.”

Grant feels like he should’ve planned this better.  “Okay, then,” he says.  “I’ll just be on the bed.  Waiting.”

Skye squeezes his butt, which only makes him jump a a little bit.  “Naked?” she asks.

“Sure!” he says.

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he can feel her smile against him.  “Be right out,” she says.

He flops onto the bed as she turns the shower on.

  
  


He’s only stripped to his underwear by the time Skye’s come out of the shower.  She flops down next to him, her hair still dripping wet.  She turns on her side.  Reaches over to his stomach.  Traces her fingers along the dark curls under his navel, lower, to where they disappear under his boxer-briefs. 

“You kept your underwear on,” she says.

“I was thinking, is all,” Grant replies, rolling over to face her.  “Sorry.”

Her hair is so much darker when it’s wet.  Curlier.  He strokes the side of her head, listens to the pleased hum she makes.  “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” he says.

She snickers.  “But you’re not hard,” she says.  “I thought that you would be.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you that way, I guess,” he says.  “I was just thinking.”

She snuggles against him.  “We could just cuddle, if you wanted.”

He takes in a slow, quiet breath.  Tilts his head towards hers and kisses her.  Keeps his hand tangled in her hair and almost has the confidence to nip at her lip.  “I’ll show you what I want,” he says.

He has no idea where that came from.

He pulls away from her lips, kissing her jaw, the hollow of her throat.  She lets out a little gasp.  He’s going in the right direction, then.  He decides to lift his hand, cup her breast.  He decides to cup her breast. Squeeze gently. She exposes her neck to him, arches her back.

“Keep going,” she whispers.

He rolls her on to her back, straddles her hips.  He’s careful not to bear down on her, rests on his knees instead of on her pelvis.  She’s so small, compared to him.  He always has to remember that.  His hand comes back to her breast.  The other strokes her ribs, her stomach.

And he keeps his mouth on her skin.  Sucks on her neck until her whines are sufficiently high enough.  He’s careful not to leave hickeys.  She wouldn’t like them in such visible places.

He lets himself run his teeth along her collarbone.  He doesn’t bite.  He doesn’t hurt her.  He kisses the spots where he left marks, and then kisses lower.

He slides his hips lower, trails his lips against her skin. He sucks on her breast, covers every part of it in kisses.  He hesitates, just for a moment, to watch her while he rests his chin on her stomach.

She tilts her head.  Stares down at him.  She nibbles her lip.  “Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he breathes.  He leans up to kiss the space between her breasts, and she lets out a content little noise.  Her head falls back onto the pillow.

He kisses a line towards her nipple, rolls it into his mouth.  Softly.  Not harsh. He doesn’t nip it, or scrape it against his teeth.  He’s kind with his mouth, with his fingers.

She wriggles beneath him, arching her hips to press against him.

He’s actually doing this well.

He slides his hands down her sides, then moves down to spread her legs. Only fumbles a little as he kneels between her thighs. Moves back as his mouth leaves her breast and finds her ribs, her stomach. 

His thumb presses against her clit, rubs soft circles against her as her breath hitches.  His mouth is on the bones of her hips.  His thumb dips lower.  She’s gotten so wet.   He must’ve done that.  He must be doing something right.  The thought makes him strain against his underwear.  

She bucks against him, and he presses down.  Pins her thighs under his hands and keeps her butt against the bed.  Moves onto his stomach and rests his head between her legs. 

She’s so beautiful.  Every part of her.  He covers her with his mouth, presses his tongue against her.

She lets out a soft moan.

It’s one of the sweetest sounds Grant’s ever heard.

  
  


He knows how to finger her.  She’d taught him with a slow and steady tenderness, putting his fingers where she liked to be touched.

He has her mapped out.  Every inch of her skin.  Every noise that she makes.

He sucks her clit into his mouth, strums his tongue against it.  She whines in the back of her throat.  Writhes where his hands keep her in place.  He’s steady.  He’s got this completely under control.

She shifts.  Hooks her knees over his shoulders, rests her heels on his back.  He hears the groaning of the bedframe.  She must be grabbing the cheap wooden headboard.  Pulling on it.

He lets out something that almost sounds like a growl.  He doesn’t mean to.  She’s coaxing it out of him, the way she rubs herself against his mouth and cries out.

“Grant, please,” she whines.  “Oh God, Grant-”

He’s sliding his fingers inside her.  Moving his other hand to splay across her pelvis, pin her down.  He’s not usually this aggressive.  He doesn’t like to be.

But just this once.  For her enjoyment.  Only for her.

  
  


She’s so wet.  Dripping against the sheets, and he dips his mouth against her.  Pulls his fingers out and replaces their spot with his tongue.  Really, really tastes her, drags his tongue against her and strokes her as deeply as he can manage.

She likes that.  She likes that a lot.

So he does it again.  And again.  He fingers her clit until she wails, until she practically vibrates beneath him.

“Grant,” she whispers, voice raspy.  “Oh God, let me come, Grant please I need to-”

He has to make her come.  He has to make her come.  He sucks her clit back into his mouth and fucks her with two fingers.  Scissors them inside her and curls up, dragging through her wetness. She has to come for him.  She has to, she has to.

She screams so loudly she wakes the cat.

Grant is faintly aware of Stitch mewling indignantly from his desk, but it’s so hard to care about that.  It’s so hard to focus on anything but Skye and the way she tightens around his fingers and tears at the bedsheets.

“Oh my God,” she wails.  “Oh, Grant, oh God-”

He doesn’t stop.

  
  


(“It’s not enough to make her come once,” Victoria Hand said.  “Make her come until she forgets her own name.  Make her come until your jaw is sore.”)

He’s trying.  He’s trying so hard for his Skye.  She sounds enraptured, enthralled, and he won’t stop until he’s really, really proved how much he loves her.

She pulls his hair.  And pulls.  Wrenches her hips out from under him.  Shoves him back.

He almost whimpers as she pulls herself onto her knees.  He’s messed up.  He’s failed.  Her eyes have a wicked spark to them, and she flings herself at him.  He falls onto his back, surprised, and she’s pulling off his boxer-briefs.

“Oh, God,” she whines. “I need, I need-”

“Condom,” Grant says, suddenly all-too aware of what she wants to do.  She wants to ride him.  She wants to make love to him.  She reaches over to the top drawer of his desk, ignoring their indignant cat.

She rolls the condom over him.  Spreads her legs.

“Baby,” she coos, pressing her chest to his.  “I love you so much, baby, I do-”

“I love you,” he says.  He didn’t fail.  He didn’t fail even al little bit.  “Oh, Skye, I love you so-”

She kisses him, without caring that he was just between her legs.  Pulls at his lower lip with his teeth.  “You’re so good, baby,” she says, pulling back.  “I need you inside me, babe.  I need it.”

He nods.  “Please, Skye.”

She’s on him.  He’s inside her, and he shuts his eyes.

He thinks he might briefly forget his name, instead.

He remembers hers.  He says it over and over, until his voice goes.

His Skye.  His Skye.  He loves her so much.

  
  


Sometime, what feels like hours and years and eons later, Skye is lying beside him, playing with his hair.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asks, still a little out of it.

“I um,” he says.  “Just instinct.”

She lets out a happy sigh, falls onto his chest.  She rests her cheek against his pec.  Brings her hands down to curl against his sides.  “Good instinct, then,” she says.  “That was incredible.”

She’s never called him incredible before.  He doesn’t mind the dopey grin that spreads across his face.  “Let’s do it again, then,” he says.  “And again, and again.”

She snickers.  “Slow down,” she teases.  “We just went at it.”

He strokes her hair.  “Yeah,” he says.  “If you want to, though. We could.”

She just smiles, kisses his chest.  “You wore me out,” she says. Pulls the blankets up.  Stitch, feeling left out, marches to Grant’s pillow and plops down.

Skye lets out a small laugh.  “I’d like to just lay here for a while,” she says.  “If that’s okay with you.”

He shuts his eyes.  Steadies his breathing.  “It’s perfect.”

“Mm,” she says.  Cuddles closer to him.  “Good.”

And it is good.  It’s wonderful.


End file.
